


A Musketeers' Fall

by ComeHitherAshes



Series: A Musketeers' Seasonal Challenge [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Complete, Cotton Candy Fluff, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Some angst, au prompts, mostly pairings, occasional smut, some OT3, specified at the beginning of each chapter, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 31,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/pseuds/ComeHitherAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 1000-word prompts for October, loosely based around autumn and Hallowe'en. Written alongside SirLancelotTheBrave for our 6 month writers' anniversary (tags and triggers given at the beginning of each chapter). Request for continuations!</p><p>Lancelot and I don't discuss posts beforehand and any similarities are a happy coincidence!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cashmere Cupcakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SirLancelotTheBrave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 1 - Roommates (first day moving in together)_
> 
> **TAGS:** Bromance, all the boys, maybe/definitely squintable OT3.

D'Artagnan lugged his backpack higher up onto his shoulders, sighing heavily as he approached the terraced building marked with a bright red pin on his phone's map. He summarily ignored the homesickness that reared its head when he spotted the gargantuan mile-count he had travelled today.

There it was, the house he would be living in for the next three years of university.

There was nothing  _wrong_ with the house, it was nice enough for student accommodation, a few weeds growing in the garden, some cardboard in the driveway, a baking tray on the windowsill.

Wait, a baking tray?

He stared at it for a moment before backpedalling when the front door was flung open. He almost overbalanced, his overstuffed bag nearly toppling him, but then a muscled arm reached out and grabbed his collar. "Who're you?"

D'Artagnan hovered somewhere between falling and steadied, arms freewheeling before he clutched for the person holding him up. Suspicious eyes glared at him from a closed face, and d'Artagnan swore inwardly.

Why, why couldn't he have had  _nice_ roommates?

A mop of curls popped over his saviour's shoulder, belonging to someone who gave him a thankfully (and really quite exuberantly) cheerful grin and held out a hand. "Hello, you must be d'Artagnan? Porthos, put him down."

 _Porthos_ gave him a speculative look before propping him on his feet again and folding his arms in a distinctly unwelcome manner, watching them shake hands as if d'Artagnan was a stray on their doorstep. "Don't remember anythin' 'bout a new roommate."

D'Artagnan might have been intimidated if it wasn't for the one friendly face who shook his hand as if they were already best friends. "That's because you refuse to read the mail. It's Aramis, by the way."

"D'Artagnan-" he managed to get out before he was dragged inside the house, Porthos closing the door and looming behind him. "Um, nice to meet you?"

Aramis' grin notched up a few decibels and he smacked Porthos on the arm when he muttered something that sounded derogatory. "You too, ignore him, he doesn't like change."

Porthos narrowed his eyes but almost seemed to lean into the hand now resting on his shoulder. "If Ron Swanson c'n hate change, I c'n hate change."

D'Artagnan felt a smile tug at his mouth at the familiar reference. "Have I wandered into the Parks and Rec department?"

Amusement flashed over Porthos' face as Aramis laughed, "You'll fit right in, d'Artagnan. Come on, I'll show you around." Aramis squeezed Porthos' bicep and murmured, "Remind Athos, please?"

Porthos scoffed. "You're more scared of 'is reaction than mine?"

"You don't bite," Aramis teased, and something that d'Artagnan thought looked very heated passed between them before Aramis ducked his head and smiled. "Anyway, kitchen's through here."

Porthos disappeared upstairs with a quiet chuckle, and the effect that it had on his face was startling. He looked – well, perhaps welcoming was too strong a word, but  _amicable_.

He somehow managed to keep his bag from knocking off every single thing on the tables, Aramis swooping in to snatch three conkers before they rolled onto the floor, and stared at what could only be called a cake-y mess.

"So that  _was_ cupcakes I saw on the windowsill?"

Aramis' face whitened into shock. " _Merde_ , one moment!"

D'Artagnan was left to drag his finger through the flour still scattered on the counter before he realised that he was being watched.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he turned around and saw someone leaning on the doorjamb. If Porthos had been unwelcoming, this one was simply  _arctic_ , he couldn't read anything from him.

"Hey?" he ventured, and received only a slow, unimpressed blink of stormy blue eyes.

_Okay._

Mercifully, Aramis returned in a flurry of curses in a variety of languages and slid past his watcher with the ease of long practice. "Stop staring, Athos, cupcake."

Athos took the offered treat without breaking his gaze and simply raised an eyebrow, prompting d'Artagnan to nibble his lip and look away when Aramis nudged him. "Ignore him, too; they're grumpy bastards in the morning."

"It's nearly midday!" he exclaimed, still aware of the eyes on his profile but a little preoccupied with the godly miniature cake in his hands.

Aramis tilted his head with a smile. "I knew we were going to get on, eat your cake, it's a welcome present."

D'Artagnan did so in stunned pleasure, and was summarily led upstairs by a verbose Aramis and a silent Athos. When they reached the landing, a silent conversation definitely took place between them, Porthos seeming to join in with a shrug of his shoulders.

"This is your room," Aramis interrupted the debate happening over his head by gently pushing him through a door. "We'll leave you to get settled."

The door shut, and d'Artagnan was left with a half-eaten cake in his hands and icing on his face, staring in suddenly exhausted bemusement at the wall.

By the time he dropped his bag to the floor, he remembered that he was a thousand miles away from home, and then remembered anew that  _this_ was home now. Home, with a friendly fucker, a scowling one, and one who hadn't yet said a word.

_Great._

Anxiety threatened to tingle in his fingertips and unpacking would only bring it to roaring reality, and so he just stood there, alone, in the middle of his new room, definitely not eavesdropping on the murmured conversation outside.

"Give him a minute, for God's sake Porthos-" Aramis' voice was cut off when Porthos appeared in his doorway.

Porthos ignored the hands tugging at his waist. "We're orderin' Chinese, wanna watch some ' _Parks and Rec'_?"

"Yes," he replied immediately, and was greeted by a satisfied grin.

He stepped out in immense relief, only to walk smack into Athos, and he stopped nervously.

However, Athos only nodded downstairs, a tiny smile curving his lips. "Welcome to the house, d'Artagnan, eat your cake."

Okay, he could call this home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins a series of chapters that will probably end up having SOME sort of modern reference in them, I hope you enjoy them! _Treat yo' self._
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	2. Transport for Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 2 - “I’m sorry but your headphones are so loud I can hear them from here and just what the crap do you think you’re listening to? That’s so two thousand and late”/”You know you’re singing to your headphones out loud, right?”_
> 
> **TAGS:** Portamis, Britishisms, public transport, meet-cute, flirting, nicknames.

The bus took a sharp bend particularly fast and Porthos' head smacked against the window. He swore with vitriol, cutting himself off to offer an apologetic smile to the elderly lady sat opposite.

Great, because it wasn't like he already gave off a bad image, wrapped up as he was in his favourite – if, admittedly, slightly ragged – AC/DC jumper; he had his hood up, and he was swearing in the general direction of a pensioner who was giving him some serious evils.

She could give any street gang a run for their money, actually; she was clutching that Tesco baguette as if she was going to beat him with it.

He realised that he was effectively cowering in his chair when the bus stopped abruptly and he had a nice chat with the window again.

"Christ, Boris jus' hirin' anyone to drive now, is 'e?" he muttered, and heard a small snort of amusement from somewhere behind him.

He would have turned – breaking the rigorous public transport rules of silence, but hey, there were rules about complaining, too – and joined them in a world-weary scoff, but a bright streak of colour hopped onto his bus and momentarily blinded him.

Porthos had to blink against the rainbow-hued jumper that swamped a slender figure with a dazzling smile. Even the driver was taken aback, the customary scowl returning only when the ray of sunshine practically skipped down the aisle.

Yeah, Porthos was staring, the guy was like some sort of gorgeous walking advert for Pride.

He was wearing white jeans,  _white_ jeans, on a bus.

Bloody Hell did they look good on him though.

Sunshine dropped into the free double seat in front, leaving Porthos to stare at some sun-kissed curls that he might have had the urge to run his hand through.

It was the jumper, it was too bright, it was doing things to his head.

Porthos huffed in frustration – just plain ol' frustration – and looked out of the window, noticing belatedly that he had definitely left a mark on the glass.

So now he was a vandal too, fantastic.

As he scowled at the passing trees, he realised he could faintly hear music, tinny as if they came from headphones. He listened in, amused to hear a familiar tune coming directly from Sunshine.

If that wasn't enough, he caught a softly sung, "Everyone hail to the pumpkin song."

Porthos sat back in his chair with a grin, content to be absent-mindedly serenaded by a lyrical voice that suited Sunshine to a T.

Oh, shit, the old lady was glaring again.

Screw it, might as well be a public nuisance to boot

He leaned forwards and said conspiratorially, "You know Hallowe'en ain't for another month, right?"

Alarmed eyes whipped around to meet his amused ones, and Porthos was caught by the almost golden rays springing from the light brown irises. "Tell me I wasn't singing aloud?"

Porthos chuckled at the aggrieved tone, as if he had been caught in the shower – and wasn't that a thought? "Yeah, that a habit of yours?"

"Oh God," Sunshine groaned, pulling his headphones from his ears. "I'm sorry, I don't really  _do_ buses."

Porthos took his time looking Sunshine over, focusing on the flash of smooth hipbone between white jeans and rainbow jumper. "You don't say?" Sunshine gave him a sheepish smile, but Porthos couldn't help his gaze from jumping to the phone in Sunshine's hands when it buzzed.

It was an all-caps message from someone called d'Artagnan. "ARAMIS HURRY UP".

Porthos tried to look away without appearing like the nosiest bastard in the entire world, but he bit his lip to stop his smile when Aramis raised an amused eyebrow at him.

"Sorry, I don't really do privacy," he said with a shrug, and was rewarded with a soft laugh and an inquiring tilt of sun-kissed curls. They were fascinating, those curls, so he added, "Seein' as we're doin' names, I'm Porthos."

Aramis gave him a slow nod of comprehension, as if he couldn't believe how friendly Porthos was. To be honest, neither could he, he was the world's worst socialiser,  _especially_ on public transport.

Bloody Hell, they were going to revoke his British passport.

Aramis twisted in his seat to look at him properly, and for a moment Porthos thought that he was going to reach out and do  _exactly_ what Porthos wanted to do to him. Questing fingers stopped an inch away from his forehead and Porthos held his breath. "You have a bruise…"

"Oh, shit" he muttered on an exhale, and grinned ruefully when Aramis pulled back and snickered. "I hate windows."

Mesmerised by those curls, he might as well add sex pest to the list.

"Look, if you don't 'ave anywhere to be, I'm gonna catch ' _Guardians of the Galaxy_ ', might 'ave a drink afterwards."

Aramis flushed adorably, a smile curving his lips as he looked down, and Porthos wanted nothing more than to tilt his chin up so that he could look into his sunburst brown eyes. "I'm meant to be seeing a friend, sorry."

He faced the front again, but Porthos could still see the edge of his smile, so he braced his arms along the back of Aramis' chair and murmured, "Shame."

Aramis shivered agreeably, and Porthos left it at that.

Under the glare of the old lady, they were quiet again. Aramis fiddled with his phone, but unfortunately he didn't sing. Instead, Porthos hummed a song that made Aramis smile, not knowing that Porthos could see him in the window's reflection.

Perhaps the window had its uses.

When his stop came, he sighed heavily, regret a frown on his brow, and murmured a farewell to no one in particular as he strode off of the bus.

Rainbows filled one edge of his vision. "Thought you 'ad somewhere t' be?"

"I called off, pelvic sorcery," Aramis said cheekily, and fiddled with the hem of his jumper. "So, that drink?"

Porthos grinned in delight. "C'mon then, Sunshine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I couldn't write about London buses and then not mention good ol' BJ. Porthos is basically my angry inner-Brit, he yells where I tut.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	3. The Fountain Fox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 3 - Kissed them as a distraction whilst stealing their wallet._
> 
> **TAGS:** Portamis, OT3, failed thieves, business cards, apparently I have an Ocean's theme goin' on, Athos is both Toulour and Danny, thief a la mode.

Aramis stumbled forwards, two large hands on his waist that frog-marched him into the centre of Piccadilly Circus. He tried to push back into the warm chest against his spine, but his captor was unforgiving.

"Porthos, please, I was wrong, okay?" His voice was garbled by the noise of tourists and engines, the latter idling in the chilled autumn air, the former making quicker pace than the traffic but still infinitely more annoying.

"No, no," Porthos insisted, wending their way through huddled people with ease. "You made your bed, gotta lay in it."

"I'm sorry!" he whined, digging his heels in until Porthos just lifted him up and carried him. He was dropped unceremoniously, perfectly angled so that he could see the statue of Anteros against the backdrop of bright adverts.

Porthos wrapped his arms around Aramis' waist, encapsulating him in warmth and resting his chin on his shoulder. "What're you sorry for?"

He mumbled a reply, but squawked when Porthos nipped his neck. "Okay! For saying I could be a better thief than you."

"Spent years roamin' the streets, little upstart like you tryna take my crown?" Porthos asked incredulously, and scoffed. "Don't think so. Now, which mark d'you want?"

"None of them! You're the better thief," he cried desperately, but Porthos just gave him a slash of a grin.

"I know, an' we're gonna prove it. Right, we want someone who ain't wise to the tricks, but'll like your pretty face." Aramis flushed in pleasure, and jumped when Porthos pinched him. "An' be distracted by your ass."

Aramis' smile came of its own accord as he tipped his head against Porthos'. "Am I the  _homme fatale?_ "

Porthos pressed a distracted kiss to his forehead. "Exactly, God knows you'll be the death 'f me."

Aramis snickered as his gaze locked onto a striking figure, dark amidst the sea of rambunctious tourists, a self-assured glower on a coldly beautiful face.

Porthos' words were a whisper. "Perfect, go get 'em." There were teeth on his neck again, a searing heat against the chill wind, and then a growled, "Dare you."

Aramis felt the challenge like a signature on a form, signed in blood and broken only by death. He took a deep breath, nodded, and then Porthos melted into the crowd, protective eyes on his back like a safety blanket.

He could do this, he was definitely the better thief.

Aramis ran a hand through his curls, tousling them as he stalked forward, putting a sway into his step and mischief into his smile.

He waited until the position was right and then deliberately bumped off of the fountain's lip and into the mark's arms.

For a moment, he was held suspended in the grip of an Armani trench-coat, and Aramis couldn't believe his luck. This was working exactly as he planned, his flustered apologies meeting a composed one, his blush earning him a raised eyebrow.

Under his lowered eyelashes, he met eyes the same colour of the brooding clouds above them, blue-grey and mesmerising.

Deft hands landed on his waist just where Porthos' had been, steadying him as he burbled more requests for forgiveness.

"It's fine," a cool voice answered, a thread of amusement twining the words, "No harm done."

Aramis ducked his head and darted away, deliberately causing a scene so that the path behind him stayed empty. A second set of eyes burned into his skin now, hovering somewhere below his back, and Aramis hesitated to cast a perfectly-practiced uncertain look over his shoulder.

The mark watched him from the fountain's edge, the faintest hint of a smirk curving thin lips that Aramis wanted to bite. He walked back with all the confidence he could muster. It was a lot, and his swagger was legendary.

A raised eyebrow seemed to mock him. "Did you forget something?"

"Yes." He licked his lips, and when the mark's interested gaze dropped, Aramis fisted one hand in outrageously expensive Armani and the other delved somewhere inside it.

Their lips met, a surprised noise drawn from the mark's, a pleased one from Aramis'. Peppermint tingled on his tongue as he tried to deepen the kiss, his mind only half on the gentle-but-fervent scrabbling for pockets.

It blanked when an iron grip clasped around his wrist.

"I am Count Athos de la Fère, who,  _exactly_ , do you think you are?"

Count? Oh  _merde._

Aramis panicked, and when he panicked, he reverted to a state of near-tears. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, please don't call the police, it was a dare."

Athos glanced at the hand still crumpling his once-pristine collar and asked with casual disbelief, "A dare?"

"Yes, just a stupid dare. Look, my boyfriend's over there, I said I was the better thief but I'm not! I've never even stolen anything before, please let me go."

Athos glanced over at Porthos, who stood, glaring, and being given a wide-berth because of it. Clouded eyes met his tear-filled ones again and then a small smirk tugged agreeably at Athos' lips, turning his haughty features even more beautiful. "I won't call the police, maybe Anteros will smile on me."

Aramis sighed in confused relief and trailed miserably after Athos until his wrist was passed to Porthos' softer grip.

Porthos' frown turned to a grin when Athos leaned close to say, "I would teach him better, if I were you."

"Thanks, mate," Porthos called, and tilted Aramis' dropped chin up to raise a questioning and far too entertained brow.

Aramis collapsed against his chest. "You're the better thief."

Porthos chuckled in satisfaction but then a frown crossed his forehead. When he stuck his hand into Aramis' pocket, Porthos started to laugh, until his eyes widened and he patted himself down. "What the fuck?"

Aramis smiled when Porthos came up empty except for a business card, his gaze catching on the statue of Anteros. It made sense when Porthos barked a surprised laugh. "It's got 'is number on it, an' somethin' else."

 _The better thief_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fountain at Piccadilly Circus is the Shaftesbury Memorial. It's topped by the Greek god, Anteros (sometimes given the name "The Angel of Christian Charity"), he's the god of requited love, and the punisher of those who scorn the advances of others. ( _Someone please get excited about the perfection of this with me_.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	4. The Enemy of My Enemy is a Little Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 4 - Beat the crap out of each other in online multiplayer._
> 
> **TAGS:** Swearing, smack talk, flirting, screen names, casual [The Dead Fencers' Society](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2184300/chapters/4781907) AU.

"Eat lead, Pipsqueak," Porthos growled, his index finger pulling on the plastic trigger with vigour. His first shot missed, the tiny sprawl of red font above his target disappearing behind a wall. "Li'l' shit."

Porthos rolled his thumb, angling himself to get a better viewpoint, the butt of his gun popping through a windowsill that would definitely give him away to anyone who bothered to look.

Luckily, he was in his favourite spot, he had a claymore at the door and his sights trained on the alley that led to his hiding place. Absolutely  _no one_ could get to him, he was totally invincible-

His screen white-washed.

"God _damnit,_ " he yelled, resisting the urge to throw his controller across the room and waiting for his killer's name to burn into his retinas.

_ThatLittleCharmer ended your kill-streak!_

Porthos watched the replay with a barely-concealed snarl, desperate to know how his nemesis had snagged him once again, snagged him in his supposedly impenetrable fortress.

"You fuckin' cheater, you threw a blind 'nade?" he demanded of Charmer as he stabbed uselessly at the greyed out respawn button.

The suave voice that had taunted him for  _weeks_ flowed through his headset, "It's not cheating _,_ it's called skill."

There was a soft scoff from someone else in their Free-For-All game, and Porthos suspected it was the supernaturally (read: fucking outrageously) skilled sniper that, somehow, survived every single game without a death.

Porthos had long stopped trying to find the elusive sniper and focused all of his attention on the far more annoying and far more vocal of his antagonists.

"Have I stunned you into silence," his nemesis drawled, adding a South-American twang into his lyrical voice, " _sweet thang_?"

Porthos felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "You ain't stunned me into nothin', you can't even throw for shit." His screen finally bloomed with colour again as his character popped into existence, far away from any velvet-sounding fuckers.

"Say that to my predator drone, biiiiitch," Charmer carolled, and Porthos had less than a second to see his screen drown in shrapnel as smooth laughter filtered into his ears. It cut off with a surprised yelp, and Porthos heard the satisfying echo of a sniper barrel.

Porthos chuckled, his death somewhat avenged even if it was by another enemy. "That's what you get for boastin'."

"I could beat you black and blue,  _TigerBlood_ ," Charmer goaded huskily.

"With what, your pretty mouth?"

"Your smack talk turns me on."

"Yeah? Well-" he cut himself off when someone ran screaming past his dorm room, and then stiffened when he heard it through his headset. "What the fuck, are you at Musketeers College?"

There was an uncertain pause, the silence of grey screens and waiting. "Er, yes?"

" _Oh_ , it's on, meet me, outside Fourth, right now."

"Are you kidding, you might be a murderer!"

"C'mon, what are ya, scared?" There was a little growl from his headset that set Porthos' grin to predatory. "Yeah, that's it, gimme your a-game,  _sweet thang_."

"Bring it!" Charmer called and Porthos heard a world-weary sigh from the sniper.

Porthos snatched his headset off and tugged on a jumper, pulling it over his bare chest until it reached his jeans. It wasn't quite  _dressed_ , but it would do.

With one hand on the door handle and the other checking the day-old stubble dusting his jaw, he realised with a surprised but very intrigued chuckle that he was about to meet the little minx that had been taunting him all these weeks.

If he looked as hot as he sounded, Porthos was in for a treat.

His breath curled in the cold air as he stomped to their meeting place, hands buried in his pockets as his grin claimed full control of his face. He stood in a puddle of light with his back to the wall, giving Charmer a chance to see him so that he didn't scare  _all_ of the living daylights out of him.

He was starting to wish he had put a shirt on when he heard an outraged, "You?!"

Peering into the darkness was fruitless, but it was enough of a thrill to hear his tormentor's voice in person. That was, until he stepped into the light.

"Holy shit," he muttered in amazement, his grin somehow spreading even wider. "What, you stalkin' me online, now?"

"Me stalking  _you_? Please,  _you_ were the one who pinched my ass this morning!"

"An' a lovely thing it was," he admitted, earning a pleased snort. "Never did get your name, Charmer."

"It's Aramis, you oaf," he tried to say derogatively, but it was fantastically ruined by the smile curving his sensual lips. Porthos chuckled, delight spiralling through his chest as he held out a hand that Aramis immediately gripped. "Maybe if you spent more time pinching buttons, you wouldn't suck so much."

"Oooooh," Porthos said dramatically, "That pretty mouth sounds jus' as good in real life."

Aramis twinkled appreciatively at him. "And your smack talk still turns me on."

Porthos considered just carrying Aramis back to his room or whether that was verging on physical assault, when he noticed someone watching from the shadows. Aramis turned to look and they both exclaimed, "Athos?"

Porthos' jaw dropped as Aramis turned to him in surprise. "You know Athos?"

Athos joined them by the wall, eyebrow quirked disinterestedly. "So you decided not to continue your murdering spree in the real world, then? Decent of you."

Porthos frowned. "How did you know?"

Athos simply straightened a shirt cuff nonchalantly. "I had thought  _one_ of you might have worked it out."

Porthos clicked his fingers and looked at Aramis triumphantly. "The sniper."

This only seemed to confuse Aramis further, his brow wrinkling adorably. "Wait, you're  _Tacitus Interfectorum_?"

Athos shrugged, a tiny self-satisfied smirk playing about his lips. "It's my server."

Porthos chuckled and hooked an arm around both of their slender shoulders. "Drink, boys?"

There was one murmured agreement and then a sly one as someone definitely pinched his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _invincible_ (a la Boris)! In case you can't tell, I have a thing for nicknames, or, more correctly, Porthos has a thing for nicknames. Athos' Latin screen name translates to 'the silent killer', because he's a witty thing. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	5. It Never Rains but it Pour-thos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 5 - “It was raining so hard I wasn’t paying attention as I ran into the side of your car/you/your umbrella, but we’re both drenched now and also hey there”_
> 
> I _had_ planned on doing some rarepair, but upon finishing it, I decided it needed another 1000 words to properly perfect flustered!Athos, so I gave in to the overwhelming sweetness that was Portamis, instead.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Portamis, nicknames, flirting, dirty flirting, seriously, they go from 0 to 60 in three blinks.

Rain-slicked wasn't his hairstyle of choice, but it was one that Aramis was slowly and dejectedly coming to terms with. In fact, it was becoming a bit of a  _lifestyle_ choice, because he was hopelessly lost and he was fairly certain that the thunderclaps sounded like laughter.

His umbrella was long-gone, claimed by the elements a few streets back, and now stuck out of a bin like some sort of bedraggled spider. All he had was the hood of his woefully inadequate gilet, which left his arms bare apart from the long-sleeve shirt that had once been white.

Now it was sort of… see-through.

So he was basically naked, in a thunderstorm, trotting aimlessly through a grey-washed world where everything was cold and unfriendly and  _oh God where was he?_

If he could just  _see_ something in the sleet, anything to get a bearing; a person, a street sign, even a friendly dog would be welcome about now.

He risked a glance at the clouds to see if they would contemplate giving him a moment's grace. Instead, they took the opportunity to sear his vision with lightning, leaving him blinking back spots and-

_Smack._

Actually, it was more of a  _flumph_ , because his face suddenly collided with sodden fabric and his hands scrabbled against what definitely felt like a pair of jeans. Trying to backpedal just made his feet slip in the world's most treacherous puddle, so he grabbed for the closest thing, which turned out to be a surprisingly large bicep.

"Watch it," a deep voice called out in amusement, clearly not threatened by Aramis' less-than-considerable bulk. "I like a roll in the rain as much as the next guy, but- you okay?"

Aramis squinted helplessly, the fork of light still imprinted on his eyelids. "I looked at the lightning."

"Smart," the voice said, laughter a soft rumble as two large hands settled around his shoulders, burning away the chill. "Will you stop fidgetin' so I can see?"

Aramis stared miserably at his sexy-sounding saviour, seeing nothing but a dark blur. "I think I'm blind."

The voice scoffed, one hand cupping Aramis' jaw to tilt his head up. "Nah, jus' blink a few times. What're you doin' in the rain anyway?"

Aramis blinked obediently, content to stand almost encased in the warm bands of the stranger's arms. "I'm lost."

"Christ, ain't you just a muddled cub in a storm, eh?"

"Yes," he whined pitifully, and blinked faster when a smooth chuckle answered him, keen to see who possessed a sound that could tempt angels from the heavens.

Slowly, too slowly, everything came into focus, and Aramis simply stared at sin wrapped in muscle. One scarred eyebrow rose in amusement, and it was almost as enchanting as the slowly forming grin that seemed brighter than the lightning. "Hey."

Aramis felt his lips part but it took a moment to form a reply, even though the grip on his jaw was gently reassuring. "Hey."

The fingers fell but, before Aramis could miss them, they curled warmly over his shoulder again. Aramis was lost to concerned dark eyes, gaze tracing the raindrops that slipped down biteable cheeks. "Am I that stunnin', or should I be checkin' for a concussion?"

Aramis flushed but didn't pull away, happy to be shielded from the slicing wind by his saviour's wonderfully broad shoulders. "I don't think I have a concussion."

"Ah, so I  _'ave_ stunned you to silence?" came the pleased reply, but it was tempered with worry. "Look, what's your name? I'm not tryna get into your pants, s'just in case you  _do_ need an ambulance, 'cause I can't tell 'em it's Cub."

"I don't mind," he blurted thoughtlessly, and winced at his own giddiness when he earned another chuckle. Surely anyone could be forgiven for losing their wings  _and_ their words upon hearing that gorgeous whiskey-rough voice, though. "I mean, my name, um, it's Aramis."

"Porthos," came the amused reply, "I'll be your nurse today."

Aramis' laugh was tinged with embarrassment. "Honestly, I think I'm okay." Some of Porthos' addictive light dimmed and his hands started to slip off of Aramis' arms. "That is, I  _think_ I'm okay, I might need to dry off…"

Narrowed eyes over a wide smile examined him carefully. "Yeah? Well, s'not in me to leave a cub out in the rain," Porthos' grin took on a sly tilt, "'specially not one as cute as you."

Aramis felt heat rush to far more interesting places, so he ducked his head and peeked through his eyelashes. "I wouldn't mind some warm milk."

Porthos' laugh sounded surprised and delighted, just the thing that encouraged Aramis' smile into a smirk. "S'that a euphemism for coffee?"

Aramis felt flirting like a second dialect on his tongue and Porthos looked like he wanted to taste it. "What would you like it to be?"

Porthos made an interested noise, one that made Aramis' pulse jump as Porthos' heated gaze dropped to his nibbled lips. "Cub's got teeth!"

Aramis bared them in a little grin, mesmerised by Porthos' pupils eclipsing his irises. "I know how to use them, too."

"Okay," Porthos said with cheerful finality, his voice sounding a little huskier to Aramis' ears, "I'm takin' you 'ome with me."

Aramis laughed, the blissful sound bubbling forth as Porthos placed a careful arm about his shoulders, giving him ample time to move away. Aramis did the opposite, he curled against Porthos' side like he belonged there, like the cub he was nicknamed. "Are you plucking me from the street?"

"Nah, from a drainpipe, all tangled an' damp," Porthos teased, tugging at a curl plastered to Aramis' forehead and thankfully missing the way his breath caught. "I ain't got an umbrella, unfortunately."

"That's fine," Aramis murmured, and tucked himself further under Porthos' amazingly warm arm, wondering whether that flash of lightning was more of a gloriously guiding star. "You'll do."

Porthos chuckled, and glanced down to meet Aramis' stupidly happy smile with one of his own, "Cheeky cub."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants that Athos/Porthos one, feel free to comment or prompt me on my Tumblr to poke me into action.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	6. Watered Down Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 6 - Meeting again at a high school reunion._
> 
> I have this mental image of Porthos growing way too fast but not filling out for years, so he's just this shy-but-rambunctious crane who doesn't know where his corners are.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Rarepair, swearing, suspend that belief yo, tempted to continue this story for prompt 11 (exes), with some smut, thoughts?

Five years had passed since Porthos had walked through these corridors, dragged his feet along the squeaky floors, caught his gangly shoulders on every doorframe, and yet he still felt as if he had forgotten some homework.

A part of that apprehension – he was an adult, had a job, a  _life_ , for fuck's sake – was the very nerve-wracking thought of who he might see tonight.

Was it really lame to show up to a reunion with someone on your mind?

The invite had dropped through his letterbox and all he could think of was cool, deft fingers on his neck and  _maybe he'll be there._

Him, Athos, the quiet one that had existed just outside of Porthos' social circle but stood close enough to smirk at his jokes, to laugh at Porthos' antics when he thought no one was listening; maybe  _he'll_ be there.

Not that it mattered.

Athos probably didn't remember the boy that had broken out into nervous sweats whenever Athos had walked by, proud nose in the air, sparing an ice-chipped glance for him and him alone.

Athos probably  _did_ remember the lanky idiot that had tried chatting him up for the entirety of final year, the clumsy kiss outside the lunch hall, one last ditch attempt before Athos disappeared into the ether of opulence and opportunity, all the things that Porthos  _lacked_.

Oh  _fuck,_  what was he doing here? Athos wasn't coming, even if he did he wouldn't give a shit about him, and anyone else here that was worth speaking to he still met up with regularly enough.

His phone buzzed, and Porthos once again wondered when his flatmate, Aramis, had gained telepathic powers. [How's it going?]

Porthos frowned suspiciously, well aware that Aramis was a conniving little shit – and he meant that with love. [y the fk did u make me come 2 this?]

[Because I think I've heard more about Athos than his parents have]

Porthos grimaced at that unfortunate truth. [wat makes u think he'll even b interested?]

[Because you're sexy and that shirt is a size too small]

Porthos frowned, noting the way the buttons strained slightly and the fabric squeezed his biceps. [u bought me this!]

[I know ;) Enjoy x]

Porthos' scowl was ruined by his fond smile, but both faded as the reunion got into full swing and all he's doing is  _waiting._ Everyone else is having a good time, and he was  _early_ for the first time in his life, and the clock's ticking, and his shirt is way too tight, and what was Aramis  _thinking_ , and –  _fuck it_  – might as well strike up a conversation with someone.

Alice is sweet, still has those dark curls that he found so fascinating as a boy (and now finds fascinating  _on_ a boy), and they catch up over some shit wine but it's not  _enough_ , he's still waiting for that lull in the conversation that always happens when  _he_ shows up, and-

There it is.

Porthos turns, feeling as if his homework is five years late and his stomach drops out and his heart is doing little flips, and then he sees him.

_Athos._

Hair still stupidly scruffy even though the rest of him was slicked in grey pinstripe and  _pride._

For a split second, Porthos feels seared by a gaze of ice, waits for that bloom of recognition, but then it jumps away from him to someone else, to Ninon, the blonde beauty of their year, and Porthos feels the lack of attention like a slap of water.

Cold water that doused the flames he had stupidly tended all these years.

Fuck, he was such an  _idiot_ , what had he expected? That Athos would recognise him and they would have some sort of Disney moment – thank you very-fucking-much, Aramis – across the tackily lit hall?

No, because this was the real world, and in the real world, outrageously posh statues of iced  _beauty_ didn't take second glances at people like him.

He would crawl home, murmur apologies to Aramis about not bringing any candy, and never think about Athos ever again – as  _clearly,_ Athos hadn't thought about him.

It was bitterly cold outside, so it took a moment for the pale hand on his arm to register.

"Porthos?"

Porthos would swear down that he didn't jump, it wasn't even a flinch, if he had to give it a term it was probably a shiver – but it was  _cold_ outside. The touch against his bicep felt like frostbite that burned straight to his core, and he turned to meet icy eyes that-  _there_ , recognition.

"Porthos, it  _is_  you, Ninon had said that you had gained some muscle but I wasn't expecting, well," Athos' gaze trickled up and down his body, lingering on his chest, " _this_."

Porthos cleared his throat nervously, the huskiness of his voice more pronounced than usual, making a mental note to worship at Aramis' feet for the shirt. "Yeah, guess you were right about eatin' my vegetables."

Athos' lips parted but no sound came out, and Porthos realised that he was catching the mythical unicorn sight of a speechless Athos.

Athos fingers pulled away sharpish, and Porthos tried not to let the thump of his heart alert the whole bloody car-park. "Wasn't sure if you'd be comin'."

"I wasn't planning on it," Athos said after some rapid blinking, "Not until I saw the guest-list."

Porthos scoffed, "A guest-list woulda saved me a lotta worryin'."

"Why," Athos asked immediately, a frown ghosting over his neutral features, "Were you hoping to see someone?"

Those pale fingers twitched at Athos' side, a tell he still hadn't cured, and it reassured Porthos enough to take a gamble and grin recklessly. "Yeah, you, actually."

He stared so hard into those damn blue eyes, the ones he wanted to  _heat_ , but all he saw was some sort of intense relief. "What a coincidence, because," Athos' lips curved into a familiar smirk, his cool fingers brushing Porthos' eager pulse, "I wanted to see you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been decreed that I'm allowed to pair two prompt days, so, if you want a continuation where Porthos recreates that sloppy kiss from when they were kids, and makes "sleepover" jokes until Athos kisses him to shut him up, you should say so.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	7. The Stalking of the Lamb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 7 - Teacher/Student._
> 
> Those of you who have read my other things know that Aramis is my leopard, but in this instance, he's something larger, but still wreathed with his gazelle's grace.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Rarerpair, Athos/Aramis, **completely consensual** , gratuitous 'The Silence of the Lambs' references, flirting, no suspense of belief this time, I'm not saying I'm writing from experience but.

"Good afternoon, sir," a too-familiar voice purred from outside of the classroom.

Athos' spine straightened in a jerk, his folder slipping from his fingers to clatter onto the floor and vomit his files everywhere.

Irritation overpowered whatever feeling had ruthlessly gripped his heartbeat, and he sighed as he kneeled down to gather the curriculum for his next class. One sheet of paper had swept out of reach, and as Athos reached for it, he met eyes a startling shade of fawn-brown.

"Sorry, sir," their owner murmured, not a hint of apology in his deceptively innocent voice, "Did I startle you?"

Athos swallowed, convinced it echoed around the empty room, and reached for the paper offered by tan fingers that brushed against his. Sparks jumped up his arm and Athos was consumed by the thought of Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling, a prison wall between them but a hand reaching through.

An uncomfortably apt description.

"It's fine, Aramis," Athos mumbled, momentarily transfixed by the smug smile that played about his student's lips, the smile that seemed to permanently grace Aramis' mischievous expression whenever they spoke.

It had started the year before, the odd times Athos had caught heated eyes on his skin from across a hall, and then they had shown up in his classes, until he saw them every single day.

Athos had most definitely begun to covet.

What was he supposed to do, ask for a transfer because he was being stalked by a smile that cut him off at the knees, that forced him to sit behind a desk for an entire lesson?

He was an adult, a professional – even if he was only older than his students by a mere five years – he could deal with this, he could ignore it, he did not need to  _indulge._

No matter how much he might want to, regardless of how often he had thought about it, he could  _cope_.

He coped when Aramis spoke his name like a prayer, like a plea, like a  _promise_ , he coped when he met Aramis' gaze and was rewarded with a small smile as if butter wouldn't melt in his sinful mouth.

Nobody else saw what Athos could see, see how Aramis' shirt rucked up as he stretched every time Athos walked by, or the way dark pupils completely overtook fawn-brown when he neared, and no one was ever around to hear the outrageous innuendo in every damn sentence.

Athos could flawlessly recite Shakespeare and sonnets and scenes and yet, under what one could only call a molten-adoring gaze, Athos stumbled, his mouth dried up, his palms itched, he  _coveted._

Aramis dotted his 'i's with a  _heart_ for fuck's sake, but only on the work for Athos, he had bloody-well scoured the other teachers' boxes, desperately hoping that it was just some overly-romantic student's way of playing him about.

But no, Aramis had something far more serious than  _playing_ on his mind, and he made it very obvious whenever he possibly could.

Most people saw small spaces as something to be avoided, especially when they contained other people. Aramis saw Athos standing in a stationary cupboard or a lift and his eyes lit up with a predatory gleam, as if he had captured something tasty in his paws.

Athos was the elder of the two of them, he was supposed to be the lion, but when he felt those hungry eyes upon him, he felt very much like the lamb.

Athos stood awkwardly, well-aware of how swiftly his blood was detouring from his thumping heart. Aramis rose with him, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone to show skin and dark chest-hair, a silver cross glinting about his smooth neck.

 _Thou shalt not covet_ , Athos thought with desperately dry amusement.  _Too late._ He cleared his throat and walked back to the relative safety of his desk. "Can I help you, Aramis?"

Aramis leaned against the doorframe, the picture of innocent seduction, completely belied by the huskiness of his reply. "Yes."

Athos almost laughed, he had walked right into that one. "The school will be closing soon." A succinct answer, dismissing any further conversation.

Except that Athos knew, by now, that Aramis was nothing if not persistent. "I need some.. extra attention."

A string of curses flashed briefly through Athos' tumbling thoughts when Aramis flowed from his spot and nonchalantly closed the door. Denials bubbled in and popped out when Aramis stalked towards him, eyes lidded and satisfied when Athos backed onto his desk, like a lamb for the slaughter.

Athos swallowed, apprehension a distant alarm that seemed ever-fainter when Aramis slipped between Athos' knees, like a hand through prison bars, the carefully maintained inch of distance between them feeling like nothing.

"Aramis," he murmured, enraptured by the shallow breaths that felt ever-so sweet against his skin.  _Fuck_ , he thought distractedly, Aramis would taste like sugar and spice and everything nice.

Like the lollipops he consistently licked whenever he was in Athos' sight, bright red like the bite marks on Aramis' lips when he was  _thinking._

"Aramis," he said again, and even he heard the faltering note to it. "Aramis," he breathed, and this one was wistful, drawing his student forward in a sway, Athos resting a hand on one slender hip to keep him steady.

Aramis shivered, and Athos groaned softly.

Aramis reached out confidently, not the slightest bit tentative of being rejected, and then his long, clever fingers tugged at Athos' tie, the others flattening over his waistcoat. "I won't bite, sir," Aramis whispered, a pink tongue darting out against lips that curved into a smirk, "hard."

Athos inhaled slowly, every nerve-ending alive with want, his breath releasing shakily as he examined the race of his pulse. There was nothing else clouding his judgement, no rage, no frustration, the command of his thoughts was assuredly clear.

Athos met fawn-brown eyes and reached up to tangle his fingers in lion's-mane-curls, earning an eager mewl when he murmured, "No? Then I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem, is it hard to tell that this is one of my favourite AUs? I spent many an hour staring dreamily at particular teachers when I was in school. Quite tempted to continue this, actually, put a bit more, ah, _detail_ in...?
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	8. Hook, Line, and Sinker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 8 - Lifeguards/saving the other as a lifeguard._
> 
> I went through a veritable _trove_ of water-related puns and had to viciously ripcurl most of them out, so please don't beach. If you sea any, give me a wave so I can tide you over.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Aramis, squintable OT3, Aramis!Whump, Porthos being a BAMF, opalescent Athos and I share a problem, pearl-pale to tomato-red.

The sun was high, the water was cool, the breeze was light, and Porthos was bored.

It wasn't as if he  _wanted_ something bad to happen, that would be terrible and, well, wrong. But he wouldn't be opposed to someone stumbling over a sandcastle or even some hot guys getting a little territorial over their towel arrangements.

There weren't even any volleyball games happening at the moment, what was the  _point_ of good weather if people weren't going to strip-off and take advantage of it?

Porthos rested his chin on his fist and listened to the creaking of his chair as he resettled his weight. He liked sitting this high up, able to see over everyone's heads to the sea, he felt like Poseidon.

He and his fellow lifeguard, d'Artagnan, might have had a bit too much fun decorating the chair. Seaweed grew up the legs, starfish served as hinges, coral as arm rests.

Treville had drawn the line at the trident.

Which was a shame, because Porthos had gotten some great attention with that gripped in one hand as he surveyed his beach.

He was only second-on today, anyway, d'Artagnan was doing the serious stuff, which left Porthos to people-watch and amuse himself with their antics.

Like right now, he saw a startlingly good-looking tanned guy trying to drag his pale-as-milk friend into the sunshine, the former laughing and the latter scowling fiercely enough to freeze the sun.

Porthos felt the corners of his mouth kick up, snorting quietly when the pale one tripped the tan and they both fell stumbling into the sand, pale skin entwining with tan and…

Oh.

Well.

Porthos cleared his throat awkwardly, as if he was apologising for catching their unguarded kiss, and quickly dragged his eyes away.

When they flitted back – completely against his will – the tan one was straddling the pale, both of their smiles gorgeously sly as their hands trailed over skin, pale fingers clenching on tanned hips.

Okay.

"You know it's life _guard_ , right? Not life  _watcher,_ " an amused voice piped up from his side. Porthos felt his cheeks flush as he pointedly looked away from the cute couple and met d'Artagnan's chiding expression.

"Please, like you can talk, how d'you meet Constance, again?"

It was the kid's turn to flush. "That was different, her friend had fallen-!"

"Yeah, an' you were obligated to check Constance over for injuries, too, were ya?" D'Artagnan's smile was only a tiny bit sheepish, and Porthos chuckled approvingly. "Atta boy. Why're you 'ere, anyway?"

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Treville took over, figured I'd help you out."

Porthos prepared to sigh heavily, but his breath caught sharply at the apex and crashed out as he scrambled from his chair. "Stay 'ere, I got this one."

He was halfway across the beach before he heard d'Artagnan's stunned agreement, his feet pounding into the scorching sand, his squinting gaze locked onto a waving hand belonging to- shit, it was the cute couple, but they were only standing in chest height tide.

"It took you long enough," the pale one snarled, "Aramis might have drowned."

Porthos almost reeled at the haughty bite to that cool voice, so at odds to the wicked smile he had seen curving his lips earlier.

"Athos, I'm fine," Aramis soothed, but there was a pinched quality to his expression, one which showed serious pain only when Athos turned to growl at Porthos again.

"Do something! His foot is caught on a line; I can't get it loose without hurting him."

Porthos sprang into action, catching the desperate plea on Aramis' face and ordering, "Move to the sand, I need space."

Athos hesitated, a confrontational look flashing in his gaze for a moment, but then his attention flickered to Aramis and concern overtook it. "Yes, of course."

Porthos' hands reached for Aramis' arms to steady him as a wave threatened to topple them both. A small whimper met his ears and his natural protective streak roared through him. "Aramis." Golden-brown eyes met his, pain tightening the corners. "I need you to breathe, I'm gonna get you loose, and then we're gonna see if you can convince your boyfriend not to gut me, 'kay?"

Aramis' laugh was small and tense, but he nodded swiftly, one surprisingly warm hand resting on Porthos' shoulder. "I trust you."

Porthos ignored the heat that surged across his skin and ducked his head under the water, forcing his eyes open against the unbearable sting.

It was a tricky task to unwind the razor-thin line from Aramis' ankle without hurting him further, but he managed it just as his lungs started to scream, surfacing with a painful gasp of air.

"Are you okay?!" Aramis asked nervously, hand slipping from Porthos' shoulder to his chest, feeling the ferocious pump of his heart. "I thought you had drowned!"

"Nah," Porthos said with extreme nonchalance, touched by Aramis' concern when his ankle must have been killing him. "Can you stand?"

Aramis tested his weight and winced, an apologetic shake of his head. Porthos didn't even think, he just reached for Aramis' slender waist and carried him bridal-style out of the water.

"Thank you," Aramis murmured, head tipping against his chest in a way that made Porthos grin like an idiot.

He liked being hero.

"You're welcome, now, is Athos gonna-?"

Athos appeared as if summoned, pale skin glowing in the sunshine, his fingers tangling in Aramis' hair and dragging him upwards for a breathless kiss. Aramis lifted, one hand curling with Athos' as the other still lay over Porthos' heart.

Porthos waited obediently, amused to see the way Athos' glacier persona melted around Aramis, but was stunned when Aramis fell tiredly against his chest instead of into Athos' arms, a small smile curving his mouth. "I think we should reward him,  _mon cher_."

Athos, hand still protectively in Aramis' wet curls, met Porthos' eyes with an appealing challenge in his smirk. "Dinner?"

Porthos looked from tempting challenge to wistful hope and knew he was hooked. "Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fin._  
>  I pretend to be a fully-functioning human being, but show me a pun and I will laugh for hours, especially if it's one I said myself. Gold starfish for you all!
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	9. How Much is that Puppy in the Window? (The One Getting Syrup and Shit Everywhere)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 9 - Wearing each other's clothes._
> 
> Never let it be said that I don't spend hours thinking of titles to amuse you all, I hope you enjoy them.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Bromance, it's just bromance, and cuddles, loads of them, stupidly cute cuddles, and a tiny bit of angst, but also pancakes!

D'Artagnan ran an exhausted hand through his hair and stared aimlessly into his cupboard. Everything was sorted into its correct place, jumpers neatly folded, shirts hung up, even his jeans were stowed away in their own drawer.

He found that he liked having order; after his father had died, it was so much easier to know exactly where everything was. It was one of the only things he felt like he could control, and so he did.

Possibly a little too much.

What that didn't explain, though, was where the fuck half of his clothes had gone, and why they seemed to have been replaced with his housemates'.

Blinking dumbly at the rigid organisation that did nothing to help his choice, he decided to reach blindly for his t-shirts and wear whatever it was he had grabbed.

A shockingly soft, black Armani t-shirt, the latest season's cream of the crop, no doubt with a price tag that would make him vomit.

Since when had he started wearing Athos' clothes? Actually, since when had he started unthinkingly wearing all of their clothes and not even bothering to say anything about it, and vice versa?

He shrugged, pulling the top on in the process, picked a pair of jeans – definitely his, not skinny enough to be Aramis', nor dark enough to be Athos' – and tumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, drawn by the tantalising smell of pancakes.

Porthos stood guard at the hob, artfully flipping perfectly circular creations into the air with ease, even managing one whilst he turned to grin at him. "Mornin', pancake?"

"If you're offering me one, yes, if that's my new nickname, no," he quipped as he threw himself onto the sofa, earning a chuckle from Porthos, who was definitely wearing one of his t-shirts. He could tell because it cut off far too high on the bicep, and because the Italian tagline on the front read,  _kiss me, I'm Italian._

He let it go unnoticed, Aramis would find it funny.

Porthos pretended to flick a pancake at him. "Skinny an' good with syrup?"

"Stop," he laughed, "I'd hate to have Rapunzel you and swing that frying pan at your head."

"Try me, Squirt," Porthos called over his shoulder, attention riveted to his creations again.

"You wouldn't miss," Athos drawled tiredly as he prowled into the room, graceful even when working on five hours of sleep. For some reason, Athos insisted on wearing shirts all the time, but today's was a lavender one that managed to perfectly suit his pale skin, just as it suited Aramis', who it actually belonged to. "His ego is gargantuan lately. Move."

The last was muttered in the vicinity of d'Artagnan's top-half, which he dutifully moved until Athos had sat down, and then rested his weight against one shoulder. It was testament to how knackered Athos was that he allowed the touch, and d'Artagnan hid his smile as Athos even lifted his arm to let d'Artagnan get comfortable.

Pancakes were clearly magic.

Although they obviously weren't good enough to keep Aramis from singing Spanish pop songs as he clattered down the stairs, sliding comically on socked feet to emphasise a long note, swathed in one of Porthos' huge hoodies, the ends fraying with loving wear.

"Aramis," Athos said with a quiet intensity that rang through the noise of bubbling batter, "I will not hesitate to throw d'Artagnan at you if you don't refrain immediately."

Aramis stopped only to smile hugely at them sprawled together on the sofa. "When you look so adorable?"

"Even then," Athos threatened, but it lacked bite, especially as his fingers had begun idly playing with a strand of d'Artagnan's hair.

Aramis pouted as he perched on the sofa's arm, running his hand through Athos' own scruffy hair to try and make it look presentable. "Why does he get Athos cuddles?"

Athos tried to remain stoic, but no-one could stand up to Aramis' pout and so he tipped his head against Aramis' hip. "Because you wouldn't let me go to bed last night, and d'Artagnan doesn't cling like a limpet."

Porthos chuckled from the kitchen, plates appearing on the counters and piling up with pancakes. "He does, 'e's just goin' easy on you."

D'Artagnan sheepishly looked up to see Athos' amused raised eyebrow. "Are you?" He nodded sleepily and received a wry smile in return. "There's hope for you yet, d'Artagnan."

Aramis made an adoring noise and reached over to pinch both of their cheeks, earning a snap of teeth from Athos and a puff of air from d'Artagnan. He was saved from any further abuse by Porthos' rousing cry of, "Pancakes!"

D'Artagnan drew his feet up when Porthos came over with their plates, and Aramis flowed from the arm only to clamber over them and settle on Porthos' lap, his legs tangling with d'Artagnan's.

They had two sofas, but that never stopped them from piling together on the bigger one.

They squabbled over plates briefly and then Aramis snickered to himself, his eyes on Porthos' chest before dabbing syrup on his nose and saying, "Nice t-shirt."

Porthos mock-growled, swiping at his nose only to growl louder when he realised his fingers were covered in sugar. It turned into a fracas, Athos the only one not to join in on the squawking and syrupy giggles.

"Is that my t-shirt you have just dripped syrup all over?" came an icy voice from his side.

D'Artagnan froze, one bite of pancake left and stickiness absolutely everywhere. Thinking as fast as one can with sugar in their quickly freezing bloodstream, he offered his final pancake to Athos with a pleading expression. "Sorry?"

There were twin snorts from near his feet, and then one corner of Athos' lip curved up into a smirk. D'Artagnan stared warily at it, and then squeaked when Athos tapped him on the nose with one sticky finger and took his pancake. "Thank you, Syrupup."

D'Artagnan sagged in relief and sneakily wiped his fingers on the sofa cushions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _SYRUPUP_ , ahhhhhahahahelp.  
> I apologise for any cases of diabetes that this chapter may have given you, if only for the copious amounts of sugar that these boys seem to ingest. Also, posting times are going to be a bit squiffy for a few days, I've been coerced into socialising and it's awful, halp.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	10. Lift Your Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 10 - Being locked in a room or trapped in a small space._
> 
> Because small spaces are unnerving and so is Athos, but damn if he ain't a cool mf under pressure.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Aramis, claustrophobia, mild panic attack, Athos' sass sortin' everything out, suspend your belief, happy ending.

Aramis pushed his sunglasses up onto his head as he stepped through the glass doors, pausing at the reception desk with a rhythmic pat of his hands. "Hi, I have a reservation for the Aqua Shard. Where are the stairs?"

He received a confused blink and immediately knew he was screwed. "Sir, it's on the 32nd floor."

 _Shit_ , he thought distractedly, and all of his earlier confidence fled as he turned to warily survey the metal doors on the opposite wall.

 _They are just lifts_ , he told himself, his inner-voice far calmer than his tumbling thoughts. All he had to do was stand in a metal box that would hopefully take him to a stupidly high floor, and not break-down and send him crashing to his death.

Right, that was fine, easy.

He forced one leg in front of the other until he could reach for the concave silver button. It lit up reassuringly under his thumb. Hey, he had survived heartbreak and his best friend's  _Star Wars_ marathon, what was one little lift?

He stepped inside and amended that description to a teeny, tiny lift where he could touch both walls if he stretched his arms out.

 _Oh God_ , he thought frantically,  _I'm going to die, I'm going to die and I left half a blueberry pie in the fridge, what a waste._

He snapped, even his inner-voice was screaming at him to get out of this death-trap, and threw himself towards the doorway.

It filled with a person, a very cute, nicely dressed person with scruffy hair and  _don't-fuck-with-me_ eyes.

Aramis stepped back instinctively, muttering an apology just as the stranger did, and slinked back to his corner, as the doors pinged shut and he was trapped.

His hands clenched painfully on the metal bars around the room, his back braced between the two walls, and his gaze focused on the ridiculously slow neon-red numbers as the floors whizzed by.

Ten, twenty, thirt-

The lights flickered dimly, the lift shuddering to a halt as something metal squealed outside the doors.

"Fuck," he said quietly, but now that he had opened his mouth, he couldn't stop the deluge of words, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm dead."

"You mean  _we_ ," a voice murmured, " _We're_ dead."

Aramis' distressed gaze tore from the dead control panel to his companion's mild amusement. "Do something," he screeched, "don't just stand there!"

The man raised an eyebrow and, with deliberate slowness, poked the alarm button. "There's no power, hence the emergency lights."

" _Mon Dieu,_ " Aramis babbled, falling into his native tongue in a panic, " _Je vais moirir."_

" _Calmez-vous,_ everything will be fine," the man assured, a tinge of surprise in his educated voice. "French?"

"No, I'm a fucking Martian," Aramis squawked angrily, but at least the anger was better than the cloying fear that clutched at his skin and his hands and his fingers and  _oh God in heaven help me._

He slid down the wall, his vision darkening at the edges as he thought about cute guys and pie.

" _Look at me_ ," the man ordered, calm voice piercing through Aramis' terror. He held Aramis' chilled face in warm, steadying hands as Aramis obediently looked into blue-grey eyes, his fingers scrabbling at his fancy suit. "That's right, take a deep breath."

"I'm going to die," he whimpered, but took that deep breath when he wasn't answered, not wanting to lose the man's sense of safety.

"Nobody's going to die, I thought you were joking," the man sighed exasperatedly, but rubbed a thumb on Aramis' cheek when he whimpered again. "Stop, what's your name?"

"Aramis," he squeaked, captivated by the man's complete control.

"Aramis, my name's Athos, why have you stopped those deep breaths?"

Aramis rushed to take another as if should catch up on the ones he had missed, and earned the hint of a smile, one that turned Athos' calm façade into an attractive one.

Of course, it was attractive before, he was just distracted on account of being in-

" _Stop_ ," Athos murmured forcefully, one hand slipping to palm Aramis' nervous pulse. "You're going to have a panic attack."

Aramis shivered when Athos' fingers brushed his neck, one thumb gently stroking his jaw, keeping him firmly grounded in the  _now_.

Firmly grounded in Athos' hands and Athos' eyes and Athos' scent of  _hors d'oeuvres_  and wine.

Athos frowned, eyes going dark with concern and his smooth voice seemed to purr. "Aramis? Stand for a moment."

Aramis stood, his movements jerky compared to Athos' composed grace. He swayed slightly and then Athos' hand landed on his hip, a firework exploding under his skin from the touch.

He whimpered again, but it wasn't with terror, it was with desire.

Aramis slid forward, hands pulling on Athos' arms until they collided, and with one touch of those thin lips on his, Aramis forgot to panic.

Athos froze, but when his fingertips curled into Aramis' hair and Aramis bit his lip, Athos moaned deep in his throat and kissed him back. Aramis smiled as lust overcame him, burning away the anxiety, and licked into Athos' mouth.

The hand on his hip clenched and he moaned agreeably when Athos pushed him onto the waist-high bar. Trailing one hand into Athos' shirt, he savoured the shudder it got him, grinning at Athos' breathless remark. "Well, this is certainly a distraction."

"Fantastic way to pass the time," he replied happily as Athos placed a kiss under his jaw. "Thanks for calming me down."

Athos pulled back to raise an eyebrow, thumb resting on Aramis' wild pulse and humming amusedly when Aramis kissed him and sped his pulse up even more.

He twitched when the lift shuddered, but forgot about it when Athos' hand skimmed down his stomach. Aramis surged forward, grinding his hips against Athos' in blatant encouragement.

The lights flickered on and Athos sighed disappointedly.

Aramis felt fingers slip from his hair and slammed his hand on the emergency button, grinning at Athos' outrageously delectable smirk when the lights dimmed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have had a whole thing with the lift mirror but I ran out of space (because you know Aramis would have a mirrored _room_ if he could). There would have been a slower build, and Athos would have been bashful when thanked, and then they would have had dinner... What I'm saying is, there's a continuation here if anyone wants it?
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	11. Watered Down Whiskey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 11 - Exes meeting again after not speaking for years._
> 
> I am literally falling out of the door whilst I post this, I'm halfway dressed for a wedding, there's eyeliner only on one eye, and I tried my hardest to make this post appropriate for the date. Oy, stress.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Porthos, adorable rarepair, bit of angst, hint of smut, what is time, I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date.

Porthos dug his hand into his jacket pocket and felt the folded – and refolded – invitation, the one that had  _school_   _reunion_ sprawled across it in friendly letters.

The one in front of him was so much better.

Athos moved first, ridiculous confidence tempered with endearing nervousness. Porthos held himself ever so steady, wary of spooking the proud creature whose cold fingers now rested firmly on his neck.

They tugged, gently, insistently, and Porthos was helpless to do anything but sway forward and taste something he thought he had forgotten. Athos' nails pricked against his skin, and Porthos wasn't sure whether this was real or simply the most realistic dream he'd ever had.

" _Fuck_ , Athos," he growled against chill lips, ones that opened on a groan at the sound of his name torn from Porthos' throat. Thoughts a-whirl with  _Athos_ whispered like a fucking hallelujah, his hands skimmed down a slim waist, rough palms catching on the silky threads of Athos' suit.

It made him draw back.

"S'been five years, Athos," he found himself saying, and had no fucking clue why he did.

No, wait, he did know, it was because he had poured his  _heart_ out to the quiet stallion standing in front of him, he had felt Athos' mouth move against his and then…

Nothing.

Athos had nipped his lip and tightly gripped his neck, and then disappeared for five years, and it had crushed him.

"Why didn't you call me, or text me, or  _anythin_ '," he asked, and hated the almost vulnerable note to his voice, the one that brought Athos' other hand up to curl protectively over his shoulder.

Athos sighed and rested their foreheads together, his breath trembling with Porthos' as he waited for an answer, as he had waited all of these years.

"Nobody knows about that kiss," Athos finally said, his mouth twisting into a grimace. "I've dated a string of women since then and.." Athos paused, the grimace tilting upwards into a rueful smile. "And I couldn't get that one sloppy kiss out of my head."

"Sloppy?" Porthos asked in mock-incredulity, but lifted a hand to push his fingers through Athos' hair, touched at his honesty. "S'your being gay a problem?"

Athos debated internally, his eyes fluttering shut when Porthos kneaded his thumb behind Athos' ear. "Noooo," a drawn out denial, breathy with something Porthos wasn't ready to throw himself at, yet. "I just never knew when the right time to come out was."

"Well," Porthos said with encouraging firmness, "Today's gotta be the day." Athos pulled back to frown, and Porthos was all too happy to erase it with a soft kiss. "It's National Comin' Out Day."

Athos snorted in amusement, "Is that so?"

Porthos hummed an agreement, content to hold Athos in his arms forever but knowing that he needed to let Athos make his own choices. "You need me, I'll be 'ere."

Athos pulled away to frown again, but it was with fond exasperation crinkling his blue eyes. "Are you planning on leaving soon?"

Porthos weighed his head to the side in thought, choosing once again to be reckless, as it had worked so well last time. "Only if you're comin' 'ome with me."

The slightest of shivers spanned Athos' spine and then he pressed closer, until Porthos could feel the faint flutter of his heartbeat. Their lips met, a hungry opening of mouths, teeth crashing and tongues tangling, it was…

Porthos grinned. "Sloppy."

Athos laughed softly, "Some things never change." A frustrated glance at the building, as if it was to blame for delaying them. "I need to get my coat."

"Grab it, you've pulled," he murmured as Athos laughed and linked their fingers together, tugging him back inside.

Porthos felt it again, that low-level hum of anxiety, but it eased under Athos' grip, and Porthos took a speculative look at the walls he had stared at for so many years.

So many daydreams, and not many of them innocent.

Their return to the bustling room was unremarkable, but they still managed to attract a cheeky wink from Ninon, making Porthos smile sheepishly as he waved goodbye.

He heard a faint noise of disgust – so very Athos – and saw him grimacing over a plastic cup of wine. "Why would they even bother to serve this? It's an offence to vineyards."

Shaking his head in doting amusement, he flourished his hip-flask, causing Athos to raise an eyebrow. "Resourceful as ever, I see." Porthos simply shrugged, interested to see Athos' reaction to his favourite whiskey. "This is nice," Athos remarked in pleased surprise, holding the whiskey in his mouth for a moment as they walked past the lunch hall.

Porthos watched the smooth column of Athos' throat as he swallowed, and couldn't control the hoarseness of his response. "Can I taste?

Blue eyes that shot to his burned with heat, one that Porthos had been craving since he had first seen those ice-chipped eyes. Athos' agreement was a groan as Porthos pushed him against the wall and held him there, trapping him where he had once stolen a sloppy kiss.

He felt the moment Athos' reactions turned from  _fight_ to  _fuck_ , his muscles loosening and his body turning deliciously slinky against Porthos'.

This time their kiss was smooth, fire and whiskey and perfection, as if it had taken a while for their bodies to realign, for their hearts to recognise the other, and now they  _fit_.

When the desire built to desperate levels, Porthos sucked a mark on Athos' jaw and panted, "C'mon, sleepover at mine."

Athos groaned, but it was only half-exasperated as he restlessly rocked his hips against Porthos'.

"D'you need to ask your mum? Promise I'll 'ave you in bed early," he murmured lewdly, and grinned when Athos dragged their lips together to distract him from making shit jokes.

"Shut up," Athos murmured, "Before I suck you off in a classroom… No, wait-!"

Porthos' chuckle was dark and Athos' laugh breathless as they stumbled into an empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so difficult to get everything you wanted within 1000 words. So, I've decided that I'm going to do a 'Continuations' fic at some point, where I lengthen everything that you like. Want more of this one? Let me know and I'll _actually_ write their sleepover.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	12. Speed Dating? I'd Be Better Off Speed Skating!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 12 - Staffroom/water cooler moment._
> 
> You may remember that I said I was rushing off to a wedding? Well, I came home and the flat below mine was on fire. Quite literally on fire, which is why my upload is late. But hey, apparently my WiFi reaches outside! Not that the nice firemen were as excited when I announced this (although I have a _great_ prompt idea now)!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthos/Athos, OT3, polyamory, dating apps, when rushing I requisition quotes for titles, namely Peep Show.

"Don't even talk to me, Porthos," Athos called as he strode into the break room, throwing his papers onto the nearest available surface and dragging a hand through his hair.

Porthos looked up from his sprawl across an armchair and gave him the eye. "I ain't said anythin'."

"Then don't look at me, just stop, whatever you're doing, stop," he muttered, and paused in his purposeful stride only to detour to the coffee machine. He glared balefully at the sign scrawled upon it. "Why is it broken? Porthos, what have you done?"

Heavy hands landed on his hips as Porthos pulled him against his chest. "So grumpy today, what's got you in such a state, eh?"

Athos tried very hard not to lean into the comforting warmth – in that, he didn't try at all, and quite happily let his head fall back onto Porthos' shoulder to sigh loudly. "If I receive one more chirpy chain-mail from d'Artagnan, or a political correctness note from Constance, I will murder someone."

Porthos' chuckle was a warm breath against his neck and Athos resisted the urge to just curl into it and fall asleep immediately – and he did actually resist that one, that was something he  _had_ learned from Constance's notes. "In all fairness, love, you can't keep callin' the kid a scrawny strip of nothin' every time he annoys you."

"But that's what he  _is_ ," he grumbled, "I hardly think I'm to blame for stating the obvious."

He stiffened when the door swung open, but relaxed into Porthos' hold when they realised it was only Constance. Except that she then smacked Porthos on the back of the head. "PDA," she snapped, "Public displays of affection, not allowed. Should I just write both of your names at the tops of my notes?"

"There's no one else 'ere, who cares?" Porthos mumbled against the skin on Athos' neck, causing him to arch ever so slightly and Constance to frown further.

"Someone might just walk in!" she insisted, and started more than they did when the door swung open again to reveal d'Artagnan, who simply waved.

"Hey guys. Have you tried that Tinder app I installed on your phone yet?"

Athos felt Porthos was entirely within his rights to smile smugly at Constance, but distracted the brewing storm by answering, " _Tundr?_ Old Norse for kindling?"

D'Artagnan stared blankly at him. "No, as in the modern English for kindling. It's a dating app."

Athos narrowed his eyes to see if the boy was trying to trick him, but had the distraction technique wrest from him when Constance shoved a coffee in his hands and gave him  _behave_ eyes.

Porthos snorted at Athos' pleased hum of coffee-delight. "What use is Tinder for us? We need somethin' like Grindr or.. Cinder!" Porthos grinned at the last, nodding in humble acceptance of his brilliance when even Constance was prompted into an impressed laugh.

"Yes," Athos drawled, "Our situation is rather a rare one, we simply want to add another to our happy pairing." He nudged his foot over to bump Porthos', and received a lazy smile of agreement.

"No, there's polyamorous people on there, too," d'Artagnan piped up, and Athos raised his eyebrows in interest when Porthos grinned encouragingly.

"How do you know that?" Constance asked curiously, her brow delicately furrowed in what was supposed to be ' _idle concern_ ' but definitely came across as ' _so green with jealousy it's almost blinding'_.

D'Artagnan ducked his head and flushed. "I was just trying to be helpful."

"Indeed," Athos agreed, content to defend the boy's corner when he was annoying someone else for a change. "A helpful strip of something."

He managed to duck in time to avoid Constance's surprisingly quick palm, but couldn't move fast enough to avoid the other one when he pointed out that smacking people was definitely not politically correct.

This was how he found himself spending his break, giving up his hard-earned coffee to d'Artagnan's pleading eyes, and dubiously eyeing the shiny new app on his phone.

"I just don't see the point of it," he said when the last member of staff had left and only he and Porthos remained. "Is it simply a looks based thing?"

Porthos fell into the seat next to him and stole his phone, swiping away mercilessly. "S'not just looks as in whether they're fit to fuck, s'what they're gonna do if you decide you get on," he murmured distractedly, brain evidently in the game. "Like, look, this one? Way too stuck up. This one'll clean your bank account out, and this one's mouth is way too small."

"Mouth too small?" he asked unthinkingly, and arched an eyebrow when Porthos smiled wickedly. "Truly, Porthos, you are the bane of political correctness everywhere," he said idly, but focused on that smile and wondered whether they could get away for a few minutes and requisition a store cupboard down the hall.

He was distracted by Porthos' whistle. "Oh, okay, now ' _im_ you swipe right on."

Athos glanced at his phone to see Porthos' thumb hovering reverently over a profile slathered in innuendo. The picture was of an offensively attractive man in dark sunglasses, brown curls pushed back by one hand as he smiled seductively at the camera.

"Please be poly," Porthos muttered in a chant under his breath as he scanned the listings. "Bingo."

"What makes you think I'll share him with you?" Athos asked archly, smirking when he got a reaction. Porthos darted a glance around the room and then his hand dropped to Athos' stomach, fingers lifting his shirt and toying with his waistband. As if beckoned, heat flared. "Porthos-!"

"'Cause I like it when you say my name all flustered an' gorgeous, an' if," Porthos glanced at the phone, " _bruisedknees_ 'ere is 'alf as godly as his profile makes out, I wanna see his pretty mouth around your cock."

"Good God, Porthos," he grit out, definitely  _not_ enjoying Porthos' lewd grin. "Okay, set a date, you can meet us for drinks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if it's a bit rushed. Let this be a reminder to you all, **do not leave candles burning when you leave a room.** Be safe!
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	13. Lead Me Straight Off the Map's Edge and Unto Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 13 - Tourist/knowledgeable local._
> 
> Because apparently I can't stop writing rarepair, and it's now quite clearly not rarepair, but foreverpair. 
> 
> **TAGS:** Athos/Porthos, flirty OT3, lost and confused Aramis, outrageous flirting, it's practically exhibitionism, okay it's exhibitionism.

Aramis stared blankly at the signpost in front of him. It was a very detailed signpost, it had all the names and directions on it, even one of those handy maps with a huge  _you are here_ sticker.

Aramis continued to stare blankly at the helpful signpost, and then he wailed in quiet confusion.

It was all very well to have everything laid out, it didn't help when he had absolutely no idea where he was  _going_.

"Big adventure," he muttered sarcastically under his breath as he chose a vague direction and walked in it, "I can go  _anywhere_  I want, why not pick a place and go. Yeah, great idea, Aramis."

He scowled before lifting his gaze to the skies. Well, what little he could see of them between the grey-washed buildings that rose up either side of him.

London, he decided with a dreary finality, was the most confusing place on Earth.

If he could just find an Underground station, then he might be able to get some bearings and actually choose where he wanted to go. His cousin had insisted that he check out the Millennium Eye, and he was fairly certain that was…

Oh, screw it, he had absolutely no idea where he was going. It had gotten to that point, a stand had to be made.

He had to ask someone for directions.

It wasn't as if there wasn't a wealth of people to choose from, it was just choosing the  _right_ person, or people. Groups were safer, but a couple would be best, enjoying a day out and happy to lend him a hand, caught up in their ridiculously blissful love life – and Aramis was  _not_ jealous.

There, that one, the one where the taller one had a grin that might rival the sun.

"Excuse me-?"

"No." Aramis was cut off immediately by the shorter of the pairing, the one with eyes that might rival the very depths of Hell when it had frozen over. Okay, clearly he had made a mistake, this was  _not_ a traditional couple.

The taller one snorted, his grin turning fondly exasperated as he squeezed the other's hand. "Athos snaps at everyone, ignore 'im."

Athos turned that terrifying gaze on the taller, who simply smiled wider and did not fall down dead as Aramis would have expected the receiver of that gaze to do. "This is London, Porthos,  _you_ were the one that told me not to speak to anyone."

Porthos rolled his eyes and shared a smile with Aramis, who nervously returned it whilst wondering if he should just make a run for it before Athos decided to push him in front of a bus for disturbing his day.

"Yeah, so you don't get yourself stabbed by anyone you piss off, which is basically everyone you meet," Porthos chuckled. When Athos tried to drop his hand, Porthos simply tugged him closer until he stumbled into Porthos' arms and was held there by a kiss on the cheek.

Aramis was almost entranced by the way Athos didn't struggle, by the way all the tension left his limbs as he settled in Porthos' grip, content to be held despite seeming like the far scarier of the two.

They balanced, he realised.

He also realised that he had been silent for way too long and they were both watching him, Porthos with a twinkle in his eye, and Athos with one mildly amused raised eyebrow as he cleared his throat and asked, "Can we help you?"

Aramis felt his mouth open and shut as he scrambled for an appropriate response that wasn't  _oh my god you two are adorable_ , but Porthos came to his rescue first. "You lost?" Aramis nodded sheepishly but simply received a reassuring smile. "Hey, we all do it, I've lived 'ere all my life an' I still can't find Savile Row."

Aramis found himself snickering when Athos scoffed in disbelief, his back still tucked against Porthos' chest. " _That's_ your excuse for not buying a new suit?"

"Shut up, you," Porthos murmured, and Aramis was once again graced with the sight of Athos' eyelids fluttering shut. It was then that Porthos looked up and met his eye, his head tilting to the side briefly, as if in thought, before he nuzzled a kiss into Athos' neck.

And then he bit him, right on the jugular, and Athos' spine arched beautifully as a strangled sound of desire bubbled from his lips.

Aramis' breath caught and his cheeks flushed with blood – which was surprising, considering where most of it was going – and he knew Porthos had seen his blatant fascination, he knew because a knowing and delectably lewd grin had split Porthos' face.

It was a long, sexual tension-fraught moment before Athos' eyes opened again, and when they did, they were mostly pupil, and his voice had a hoarse note to it. "Where exactly are you trying to be?"

"The Millennium Eye," Aramis squeaked, his attention still locked on that pink mark on Athos' pale neck.

"Nah," Porthos said huskily with a slow shake of his head, "You don't wanna go there, you wanna come with us for a drink."

Aramis stumbled in surprise, caught only by Athos' arm darting out to steady him by the shoulder before he fell. Athos' fingers felt like a brand, and Aramis found that he wasn't shaking it off.

Even he heard his voice pitch high with interest, "Are you sure?" He was also very aware that he was answering Porthos but he was  _asking_  Athos, the one who had to be controlled with Porthos' calming touches and sensory-shocking bites.

Athos shifted in Porthos' arms, his attention burning an all too-agreeable path up Aramis' body. "I don't think we caught your name?"

"Aramis," he breathed dazedly, and heard Athos murmur it back as if he was tasting the sweat on his skin. "I'd love that."

Aramis shivered in anticipation when Athos gave him a smirk that bared a hint of teeth. "Yes, you will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the skin of my teeth it's still Monday GMT!  
> For reference, I pictured Aramis at the map point in Carnaby Street after prancing around Liberty like a kid in a candy store.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	14. Silence in the Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 14 - "It’s 3 am and I’m still in the library studying for finals and I’m losing my grip on reality and I think I just saw a ghost."_
> 
> Because if any of the boys were to be associated with shadows, silences, and piranhas, it's Athos. Also, I'm fairly certain his glares can melt flesh.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Porthos, that's right, more foreverpair, Porthos being a cool customer, Athos being gloriously haughty, swearing, I could sail this ship forever.

Athos watched the words on his textbook's page swim in and out of focus. He watched them with the single-minded determination of a man who refused to be affected by the rigmarole of  _life_ and  _time_ and the petty grievance of _if that idiot doesn't stop typing so loudly I'm going to stab them with my freshly sharpened pencil._

He slammed a palm down onto the table and took a bitter but very bright burst of delight when his aggravator jumped a few inches into the air. They glared at him, but looked away when he simply spun his graphite needle between his fingers.

Athos let a smirk curve his lips, pleased with his little victory in achieving silence, until he heard a snort of amusement from his right. He peered into the depths of the library, annoyingly shadowed by rubbish lamps and a complete lack of daylight.

Even if he hadn't been studying exceedingly late into the evening, the autumnal weather seemed determined to match his foul mood, casting a layer of gloom over everything but giving him some perfect white-noise for his studying.

And so he did  _not_ appreciate distractions.

This, naturally, explained why he decided to go in search of the noise, because it wasn't as if he had another five thousand words to write or a loud typist to harass.

He could have sworn that there were only three people in the library tonight, according to the sign-in book; him, the typist, and the librarian. Which begged the question, who had snickered at him?

He prowled through the shadows, intent on finding his second aggressor of the evening. They weren't hard to find, even if they were hidden in a natural alcove made of bookshelves.

"Glad someone shut 'im up," was the friendly voice that rumbled out to meet him, its owner leaning back on his chair to be seen under the lone low-hanging lamp in this row.

Athos vaguely recognised the tight crop of curls, but it was the pulled up hood and bright slash of a smile that clued him in, it was the same distractingly attractive sight that he saw whenever he gave a particularly brilliant answer in class. "You, we have Linguistics together."

Amused disbelief flashed across an intriguingly expressive face. "Yeah, we do, it's Porthos."

Athos simply nodded, not inclined to share pleasantries when he had studying to do. Except that as he turned, his attention snagged on a few empty packets of food, on the tattered rucksack flung into the corner, on the  _lived in_ quality of the area.

Athos stared at some particular point of the high beamed roof and heaved a sigh, running a hand through his messy hair and wondering why he had to be born with a tiny streak of goodness in his heart.

Maybe it was because Porthos looked like he could do with a few nights in a bed, and maybe it was because Athos had thought about that bed being his. With him still in it.

He cleared his throat. "Do you.. have somewhere to go, later?"

At first, Porthos gave him a sly smile, as if Athos was trying to chat him up, but at Athos' most unimpressed look, Porthos frowned at him as if he were an idiot. "I don't  _live_ here."

Athos blinked and, caught on the back-foot, lied, "I don't remember saying that you did."

Porthos started to laugh, at his expense, and when Athos scowled, Porthos laughed harder, "You thought I did though. Fuckin' 'ell, Athos, I ain't homeless-"

Athos held up a hand to lead into his interruption. "How do you know my name?"

Porthos' laughter didn't stop, so much as trail into a series of mind-blowing smiles. "You're a mouthy fucker, I pay attention in class."

Athos chose this moment to sniff haughtily, not liking being known and definitely not liking the amused glow in Porthos' eyes, the ones just barely visible under the hood he wanted to tug off. "Do you? Is that why you're always doodling?"

Porthos gave him a very knowing look that looked altogether too good above his grin. "Been payin' attention to me, eh?"

Athos fought against something that he refused to call a blush. "It's hardly surprising," he snapped, infuriated when Porthos chuckled, "You keep staring at me."

"You ever wonder what I'm drawin'?" was Porthos' only response, and Athos forced his chin up in disdain when all he wanted was to nod. It was the only thing that managed to distract him from his work, feeling Porthos' gaze on his profile, feeling it flicker away and back again, like the most fleeting of caresses.

"No."

Porthos' smile turned predatory. "Liar."

Athos drew himself upwards with a scoff. "I hardly think you're in a position to be calling me a liar; you know this textbook is  _five years_ out-of-date, don't you?" His lip twitched when Porthos' brow furrowed in confusion. "Clearly you are  _not_  paying attention."

Porthos' attention jerked back to him, and Athos felt suddenly locked into place when Porthos pointed at a familiar sketchbook. "I'll do you a deal then,  _la Fère,_ " Porthos winked when Athos snarled, "You gimme a hand wi' this Linguistics revision, an' I'll let you take a peek at my  _doodles._ "

"Deal," he replied immediately, and swore inwardly when Porthos tilted his head to the side.

"Thought you weren't interested?"

"I'm not," he maintained, even as his feet moved him forward, even when he neared and Porthos patted his knee to get him to sit.

"Sure you ain't," Porthos agreed with a grin, and then his voice dropped to a growl. " _Sit._ "

Athos sat.

Porthos settled him on his lap, his chest almost pressing to Athos' back, and when Athos drew himself upwards this time, it was with more of a sharp inhalation than a scoff. His pulse started to race when Porthos' breath ghosted over his neck in a low murmur.

"Thought you weren't interested?"

"I'm not," he lied, and opened the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1000 words just isn't enough; I get right up to it, to y'know, _the smut_ and then boom, 1k cap. I have this image of Porthos trying to annotate poems about ice and harsh winds, and suddenly he's drawn Athos, from memory, but he can't get the eyes right... Okay, I can't write this in the notes.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	15. Bottled Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 15 - Awkward teenage spin the bottle/seven minutes in heaven._
> 
> I think it's physically impossible for me to write these two as anything other than fluffy. If I saw Constagnan smut I think I would act like an aggrieved child, chant _lalala_ and run away. Puppy's just too cute.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Constance/d'Artagnan, OT3 being adorable in the background, nervous!d'Art, Louis makes an appearance, and is an ass.

"Spin the  _what_?" d'Artagnan asked, his voice pitching into an outraged squeak.

Louis gave him a look that said  _turn it down a few decibels_ and repeated, "Spin the Bottle, you must have played it before?"

"Yes," he whispered fiercely, "When I was twelve, and it was awful."

Louis snorted, reaching out to ruffle d'Artagnan's hair as he walked past. "It's a little more than chaste kisses now, d'Artagnan."

"I know," he muttered mutinously, trying to bore a hole into Louis' back with his glare alone, "That's what bothers me."

Thankfully, Louis was side-tracked by his iPod shuffling something that sounded suspiciously like Spice Girls and raced off to sort it out, leaving d'Artagnan to mumble deprecations under his breath and generally curse all third-years that couldn't keep it in their pants.

Them, and the ones who eavesdropped on everything.

"You shouldn't even be here, Louis was adamant that it was third-years only," Athos pointed out, completely unhelpfully.

"Yes, thank you," he snapped uncomfortably.

Athos simply raised an eyebrow, but then had to brace when Aramis came flying onto his lap and cuddled into his chest. "Why's d'Artagnan looking soooooo grumpy?"

Athos tried to hide his smile in Aramis' hair and failed miserably. "He's taking umbrage at Louis' choice of drinking games."

Even d'Artagnan felt his scowl falter when Aramis crawled up Athos' shirt to ask delightedly, "Drinking games?"

Athos hummed in amused agreement, arms curving protectively around Aramis' shoulders when he wobbled. "Time to take you home, I think. Where's Porthos?"

Aramis shrugged and fell straight to sleep in the crook of Athos' neck. D'Artagnan laughed despite himself and let his head fall back with a thump as his laugh turned into an aggrieved groan.

Porthos leaned over him with a grin. "You 'eard about the game then?"

D'Artagnan chose to simply stick his tongue out when Athos called, "Will you take Aramis from me before he drools into my collar?"

Porthos' expression turned unbearably fond when he saw the two of them, and even Athos' best attempt at unimpressed was marred by the way he was softly stroking Aramis' hair.

"Yeah, 'course," Porthos murmured, gently scooping Aramis up and only pausing when Athos pressed a kiss to both of their cheeks. "Don't bottle it, kid!"

D'Artagnan frowned in confusion at that encouraging statement and then realised that Athos had his  _sage wisdom_ face on. "If you like her, take the opportunity."

D'Artagnan felt his words scramble in his mouth before he blurted, "Like, like who?"

Athos rolled his eyes. "Like  _whom_ , and you know very well  _whom_ , do not think me so ignorant."

D'Artagnan looked sheepishly at his beer, trying to tell Athos that his help wasn't appreciated.

Athos ignored it and mused, "If you  _really_ like her, you wouldn't risk someone  _else_ spinning that bottle."

Which was how d'Artagnan found himself racing from his chair with Athos' reassuring palm on his shoulder. He scarpered upstairs with all of the grace of a scrambling puppy and bolted from room to room, desperately hoping that the game hadn't started.

D'Artagnan halted on one threshold, hands braced on either side of the doorway, breathing a little too heavily than a flight of stairs warranted and had nothing to do with the anxiety that had started clutching at his chest.

His eyes fell on Constance, sat cross-legged on the floor, and playing with something at her feet.

His heart dropped, he was too late, she was going to play and kiss someone  _else_ , and he was going to have to leave anyway because the boys had gone home and  _fuck_ this was a disaster.

Until Constance looked over her shoulder, and her smile was soft and wonderful like a bouquet of flowers, her lips like red roses, and her hair like tumbling autumn leaves. "Hello, d'Artagnan."

He squeaked a reply, panicked, and cleared his throat. "Hey, Constance, are you, um, are you playing-"

Constance scoffed delicately, "Spin the Bottle? No, it's a children's game."

D'Artagnan sagged against the doorframe in abject relief, finally venturing into the room to see what she was doing. His laugh surprised as he neared, "You found a cat?"

Constance wrinkled her nose and he thought she was unbelievably beautiful. "Cats are better company, except you, of course."

His smile was lopsided and stupidly pleased as he tried to sit down gently beside her, but ended up falling in a tangle of limbs and scaring the cat.

Constance arched a chiding eyebrow. "Not playing, either?"

He shook his head, wondering if he felt dizzy because of the running or because Constance's knee brushed against his. "No, it's stupid."

Constance nodded, and d'Artagnan wanted to stroke the elegant arch of her neck; Constance was always so poised and perfectly put together, whereas he just stammered and bumped into everything. He slumped dejectedly, it didn't matter what Athos said, Constance could never like him back.

The china-blue eyes that met his were sparkling with mischief. "It's not as if I need a bottle to tell me who I want to kiss."

"No?" he asked, voice strangling, because they were talking about  _kissing_ , and her calf was now pushed flush against his, and her smile was ever so sweet.

Her head tilted to the side endearingly. "Why were you looking for me?"

His gaze flickered between her eyes and her mouth as he burbled, "Me? I, um, I wasn't?"

Constance laughed softly, ducking her head as she bit her lip, and d'Artagnan's thoughts dissolved into  _she is the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen_.

Constance rested a hand on his leg and he looked up like a startled calf to find her there, leaning forward with her red-petal lips brushing against his and her breath like a honeyed breeze.

Her palm found his chest as his cupped her cheek, and in his arms d'Artagnan held a fragile rose that nipped at his skin with her deadly thorns.

"Spin the bottle, d'Artagnan," she whispered, and he grinned into their next kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I ended up writing two for this, because the first one was OT3 meet-hot and I ran out of space when Aramis refused to let me cap at 1k because he was trying to jump Athos' bones. So, if you want it, that might appear as its own fic at some point (possibly with an E-rating)?
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	16. Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 16 - "Well, we’re both here to meet a mutual friend to hang out but they dropped out last second and this is awkward as shit, huh?”_
> 
> I have this headcanon that Athos drinks coffee with one forearm braced on the table, leaning to the side, and does that little lip sucking thing that guys with moustaches do, so he doesn't get froth on it. Sometimes he does anyway, and nobody tells him, because it's adorable.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Aramis, meet-cute, Athos is a haughty mofo, as per usual, Aramis is an adorable bubble, as per usual.

Aramis huffed into the hood of his jacket and wished he had remembered to bring a scarf. It was  _freezing_ , but he had thought that his fluffy earmuffs would be enough. They weren't cutting it – yes, his ears were toasty, but his neck was in serious risk of icing up.

If that wasn't all of it, Porthos was  _late_. At least if he had shown up on time they could have scampered off to the warmth of a coffee shop, complete with his mysterious friend in tow.

 _You'll like 'im_ , Porthos had promised over the phone last night,  _'e's a bit quiet, an' you could chat a smile out of anyone._

Flattery could get you anywhere, and Porthos knew it.

Still, if they had Porthos' seal of approval, Aramis was happy to meet them, he and Flea got on like a house on fire, after all. Even if the text he had received this morning had confused him. He had no idea who this King of Smirks was meant to be.

Stamping his feet to get some blood back into them, he scrabbled for his phone when Porthos' ringtone sounded, Red Hot Chili Peppers filling the chilled air. "Where are you?!"

"Shit, I'm sorry, love, I'm still at Ealin'." Aramis groaned tiredly into his phone and Porthos' chuckle went some way towards warming him up. "I know, I'll make it up to you, promise. Athos is there, go introduce yourself."

"Is he?" Aramis murmured in surprise, looking around the busy paths. "I don't see-" he cut himself off when he saw a swathe of shadow leaning against a statue, expression in such a state of unimpressed that it was as if the whole world was boring him. "Could his glare kill people?"

Porthos laughed, "Yeah, that's Athos."

"Fine," Aramis sighed, "but if he murders me, this is all your fault."

"I'll take full responsibility, darlin', now go make friends."

He made a noncommittal noise to hide his smile and shoved his hands into his pockets. As he walked over, he saw Athos answer his phone and, for a moment, he was pierced by a gaze of ice.

Aramis felt a little thrill of smug satisfaction that Porthos had called him first, but also a little wary that Porthos had to warn his friend regardless.

Through the bustle of business people, Aramis heard a smooth, cultured drawl, "I'm well aware of how to be nice, I just choose not to be."

He faintly heard Porthos call Athos' name exasperatedly, but Athos simply hung up the phone and raised an eyebrow at him, the picture of unwelcoming.

Aramis' subconscious made a noise of disgust. Why did Porthos' friend have to be a bastard – even if he was a frustratingly good-looking one, in a stand-offish prince type of way.

Fine, he could be the polite one. "Um, are you waiting for Porthos?"

Athos' eyebrow seemed to rise higher in incredulity. "No, I'm waiting for a bus."

Aramis felt his pleasantries flat-line and shot back with, "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know."

A cruel smile flickered at the edges of Athos' infuriatingly interesting mouth. "And stating the obvious is a sign of an uneducated man."

Aramis drew himself up affrontedly. "Who are you to say that I'm uneducated?"

Athos crossed his arms in his annoyingly warm-looking jacket. "Porthos' oldest friend."

Aramis snorted and tried to look even half as arrogant as Athos, "What, you met in the womb?"

"In the maternity ward, actually," Athos remarked, so matter-of-factly that Aramis spluttered.

"Porthos is an orphan!"

"There's that stating of the obvious again," Athos quipped, amusement a taunting glitter in his sharp eyes. "As am I."

"Oh," Aramis winced, aiming for an apologetic smile. "Sorry?"

"Quite alright, you weren't to know, even if it was obvious," Athos said, the amusement turning softer, the smile a shade less cruel. "I have to admit that I'm rather incensed about Porthos' lateness."

Aramis cocked his head to the side in thought. "You don't think he did it on purpose, so that we'd have to chat?"

Athos scoffed, a deliciously haughty thing that suited him to a T. "I know he did." Aramis scowled, but blinked in surprise when Athos laughed, the sound sharp but quiet. "He was right, your frown is quite adorable."

"What?" he stammered, flushing under Athos' piercing gaze, not having any idea how to respond to that. Had Porthos been talking about him, telling Athos to look out for his frown because it was  _cute?_

What did that even mean?

"Are you wearing UGGs?" Athos asked dubiously, his own black and white Converse in stark contrast to Aramis' fawn and fur.

"Yes, it's freezing," Aramis muttered defensively, and blinked in stupefaction when a thin scarf appeared in front of his face. "Are you sure?"

"Porthos would kill me if you catch a cold," Athos explained, but there was a glimmer of genuine concern in that nonchalant shrug. Aramis didn't need any further encouragement, he wound it around his neck and snuggled into the scant warmth left over from Athos' body heat. "Better?"

Aramis hummed his happiness, and smiled shyly at Athos' amused smirk. His fingers fiddled with the ends as he asked, "Do you want to get a coffee?"

Athos observed him for a moment and then nodded. "Excellent idea, we'll let Porthos suffer a little, hm?"

Athos gestured for him to lead the way, and Aramis was so endeared by this softer side that he teased, "Who said anything about inviting Porthos?"

Athos smirked, and Aramis congratulated himself.

He caught Athos looking at him as he babbled about things on their way to the coffee shop, Athos listened patiently, and used Aramis' distraction to pay for both of their coffees and a cupcake Aramis had been absent-mindedly eyeing up.

"Your frown really is rather adorable," Athos stated when Aramis scowled at his plate.

Aramis blushed but said archly, "Now who's stating the obvious?"

Athos laughed, and it was low and brilliant, "Touché."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These updates are getting super irregular, I'm so sorry, I'm just stupid busy at the moment and time to write is rare. I hope you're still enjoying them though! <3
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	17. Tell Your Boyfriend Hold Your Jar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 17 - Fake relationship – in a bar and one asks the other to pretend to be their bf._
> 
> Marsac is the perfect scapegoat for evil-doings, and I can never get enough of rarepair, and Portamis, and OT3, and this is basically me, on a two-hour journey, indulging in my ships.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthos/Aramis, Athos/Porthos, reference OT3, tags, I may have fallen in love with Uena's Athos' ugly sweater thing, it's just perfection.

"Wait, Mis, come back!"

Aramis shuddered and pushed through the crowd, aiming for the bar and resolutely ignoring the hand that tried to paw at his arm as he escaped.

He peered over his shoulder to see his very persistent co-worker struggling to catch up to him. Panicking, he pressed forward and tripped, stumbling into some, frankly, gorgeously thick arms.

"D'you mind?" He was steadied by one large hand on his shoulder which dropped as soon as he found his feet. Aramis looked up into friendly eyes the colour of freshly tilled soil and lips that seemed on the edge of a grin.

"Please," he begged, casting another glance behind him and seeing his saviour's eyes narrow in concern, "can you do me a huge favour and pretend to be my boyfriend? This guy…."

The man's gaze flicked to the bar for a moment, as if looking for someone, but then asked, "S'he botherin' you?"

Aramis shrugged, trying not to make too huge a deal of it when his saviour flexed a fist – he seemed as if he won bar brawls for a living, and looked damn good doing it. "Judging by the office gossip, he's a flirt 'til he knows your taken."

His saviour's spectacularly scarred eyebrow raised. "Monogamy turns 'im off?"

"One too few for my tastes, but  _c'est la vie_ , whatever floats your boat," Aramis prattled absent-mindedly, stopping short when he noticed surprised interest flicker across… "What's your name?"

A low laugh answered him, "Porthos."

"Aramis," he murmured, and forewent a handshake by simply sliding up against Porthos' side. "We've been dating for three years, it's quite serious, you've met my parents."

"Did they like me?" Porthos asked quietly when Aramis would have left it at that.

Aramis gave a startled smile and looked up under his lashes to see a cheeky grin. "Yes, although Mother and I both agree that the jumper needs to go," he remarked, running a hand down a truly awful pattern on Porthos' forearm.

Porthos laughed under his breath, something enticingly knowing in it. "Ah, it was a gift."

"From who, Satan?"

Porthos snorted, "Some do say… Heads up."

Aramis prepared to paste a lovesick smile on his face, but it was only just shy of genuine when Porthos rested a hand on his far hip and pulled him closer, murmuring an apology for manhandling him.

And so it was with a pleased blush on his cheeks that his co-worker found him, one hand on Porthos' chest and the other linking with the fingers on his hip.

"Mis, why'd yo- oh."

"Oh, hello Marsac," he said disinterestedly, and tried not to laugh when Porthos scowled menacingly.

"Can I 'elp you?" Porthos all but growled, resting his chin on Aramis' curls when Marsac took an uncertain step closer. The protective hold made him smile delightedly, and Aramis recklessly decided that he liked being here, in Porthos' safe grip.

Aramis nuzzled into Porthos' neck, intrigued when Porthos looked to the bar again before lifting his head to give Aramis better access. It sent a throb of unexpected lust through him and he pressed a kiss there, and witnessed the fascinating dichotomy of Porthos tensing up even as a groan was torn from his throat.

Fascinated by the blowing of Porthos' pupils, he only remembered Marsac was there when he heard a stammered, "Shit, sorry, I'll, um, see you at work, Aramis."

Aramis made a distracted noise that Marsac interpreted as a dismissal, because he scarpered, leaving Aramis to watch Porthos drag a frustrated hand through his hair and mutter, "Christ."

Aramis was loath to untangle himself from Porthos' arm, even though he knew he really should. It was rare to come across such generosity, and wrapped in such a pretty package…

"Well, this is a little unorthodox, no?"

Aramis nearly jumped out of his skin at a voice that sounded like wolves on an arctic wind, wolves that were out for blood. He twisted with Porthos' hand still on his hip, the one that gave him a reassuring squeeze, and saw fury.

Not anger, the newcomer wasn't angry, he was just ice and intensity compacted into one leanly muscled body. Aramis was tempted to make a run for it before he ended up in those terrifying wolf's jaws.

Except he was still plastered against Porthos' side, and when Porthos spoke, Aramis could have died. "Hey, Athos, love, I was jus' givin' Aramis, here, a hand."

They were together.  _Fuck_ , he was a goner, Athos was going to tear him apart and feast on his remains.

"I could see that," was the truly frigid reply, and Aramis knew that if looks could kill, he would be frozen in some carbonite so that Porthos' boyfriend could hang him on his wall.

"It's not what it looks like," Aramis babbled, and tried not to quail under Athos' smoothly raised brow, "There was this guy, wouldn't take no for an answer."

Athos frowned, his attention flicking to Aramis' pressure points, looking for bruises. "Was he bothering you?"

It was the exact same thing that Porthos had said, that same sudden protectiveness filtering through Athos' stature, turning his cold eyes fierce with concern, and Aramis was mesmerised.

"Yes, but Porthos was kind enough to help," he said dazedly, and watched in amazed confusion as all the tension drained from Athos' form, leaving him simply amused.

Porthos' chuckle against his neck made him shiver agreeably, "We don't get to play protector often."

"I can see why," Aramis murmured, trying to take in the sheer amount of dominance they both exuded.

He realised quite suddenly, and with no less than a severe burst of interest, that Porthos' hand was still on his hip.

His words from earlier floated back to him, about monogamy being one too few, and he looked up to see two pairs of protective eyes on him.

Athos' lip quirked into an enticing smirk. "Drink?"

"Please say yeah," Porthos breathed against his ear, and Aramis was already nodding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WAS ON TIME, with two minutes to spare. I was meant to be having drinks with someone but just rudely flung myself from their presence so I could post on the right date. Also, Clooney vastly overstated these Nespresso things, also also, this hotel's WiFi is amazing.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	18. Speak 'Friend' and Enter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 18 - "Why does my shitty neighbor keeps using my WiFi”, “Then you shouldn’t’ve made the password a dumb ‘Lord of the Rings’ reference”_
> 
> All the best prompts occur when I'm busy, and apparently they don't let you take laptops to Cheltenham. Who knew, right? However, your comments are getting me through, thank you so much for them and I'll shower you with replies and love upon my return to insular life! <3
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthos/Aramis, block of flats, dat flirting, Lord of the Rings and Doctor Who references, Porthos is a little shit, but he thinks Aramis is the little shit, he's wrong, it's him.

The first time Porthos had met one of his neighbours was when he had heard something small and helpless whimpering out in the hallway.

The small was relative, the whimpering, well, the art of getting a key to work was apparently lost on drunken idiots, even if they did stare at him adoringly when he simply turned the door handle.

Soon after, he had found pizza vouchers on his welcome mat, ones where the margarita-and-pineapple offers had been cut out.

Who did that? But Porthos wasn't going to turn his nose up at discounted food – certainly not on his paltry paycheck – and the cutie next door had enough UGG boots to shoe an army, he evidently wasn't short on cash.

The second time had been when he was summoned, growling, from his bed, because he could hear an alarm through the shared wall. Banging his fist on the neighbour's door had revealed sleep-mussed curls and soft-brown eyes blinking tiredly at him.

It had thrown him, that jaw-droppingly gorgeous sight.

Until he heard the alarm go off again. "C'n you turn that fuckin' thing off?"

"But I have to go to work?"

It had been so difficult not to crumble into an apologetic mess at that endearing confusion, but Porthos had managed it. "Then go! Turn your alarm off an' get dressed!"

Magnificent brown eyes had frowned, looked down, and then widened in alarm before the door slammed in Porthos' face. Could he have pointed out his neighbour's rather adorable Doctor Who boxers? Yes, but that would have deprived him of the view.

He needed  _something_ to reward him for not striding in and smashing that damn alarm.

There were more pizza vouchers the next morning, and a scribbled  _sorry!_ across one corner.

It was cute, but now he couldn't get the little shit out of his head. They would bump into each other in the hallway, little smiles and lingering looks. He would hear noises next door and wonder if his neighbour wore pyjamas, or whether he simply wandered around in the nip.

That one almost undid him.

It was agony, not knowing anything about him, and yeah, maybe he shouldn't have waylaid the postman so he could find out his tormentor's name, but  _Aramis_ was like a drug; he'd had a taste, and now he wanted more – which was why he maybe-definitely contrived the next meeting.

Porthos had been stealing someone's WiFi since the day he had moved in, and now that he had seen a TARDIS emblazoned across slender hips, he knew who it belonged to.

Which was why he wasn't surprised when he heard insistent knocking on his door, and happily lounged in his doorway in nothing but a pair of jeans, enjoying watching those soft-brown eyes go from irritated to interested.

"Yeah?"

Porthos grinned when it took a moment for his gaze to be met again by one that turned into a flushed scowl. "It's you, isn't it? Hijacking my WiFi!"

Porthos snorted and folded his arms across his chest. "S'not hijackin', your password was obvious. Who makes their router name a dwarf riddle?"

Aramis blushed a fiery red and spluttered, "That doesn't mean you should try to guess it!"

"Sure it does." He caught Aramis' eye and said slowly, "I like a challenge."

Aramis strangled a scream, threw his hands up in the air, and stormed off, leaving Porthos smiling after him. He dashed to his laptop, and laughed aloud when he was kicked off the Internet and saw the router name change to  _One Does Not Simply Connect to my WiFi_.

Porthos let it go – although he was fairly certain he could guess it – and resigned himself to no Internet for a while, let the adorable little fucker think that he'd won.

A week passed, a week of Aramis smiling at him before remembering that they were meant to be at war, and every time Porthos simply grinned and enjoyed the faint flush on tan cheeks.

Then he had been on the way back from work and seen a pizza guy about to buzz in. How had Porthos known it was Aramis' pizza? Well, one, it had gross pineapple on it, and two, it was delivered by the guy who had a huge crush on Aramis.

Yeah, right, not on his watch.

He had growled at the kid – don't send a boy to do a man's job, after all – and bussed it upstairs himself. Aramis opened the door distractedly, one hand running through his hair and the fresh tang of aftershave in the air.

"Hey Pabl-oh. What do  _you_  want?"

Porthos chuckled and waved the box enticingly. "Don't be like that, look, I brought you pizza."

Aramis snatched it from him. "It's  _my_ pizza, just as it's  _my_ WiFi."

Porthos hummed in amusement. "Possessive, eh? I like that in a man."

Aramis rolled his eyes, failing to hide his smile, but then paused. "Wait, where  _is_ Pablo?"

Porthos stepped closer and grinned delightedly when Aramis raised his chin in a silent challenge. "I told 'im you were  _mine_ to flirt with."

Aramis scoffed affrontedly and stalked off, calling over his shoulder, "You have some nerve!"

Porthos hesitated and then shrugged, following Aramis inside. "S'called persistence," he replied, happy to be getting a glimpse of the little bastard's flat. Artsy movie posters covered the walls, Empire magazine covers and promotional pictures in pretty frames.

"It's called stalking," Aramis declared as he returned, hands on his hips and looking completely indifferent, if it weren't for the tempting smile curving his lips.

Porthos cleared his throat, trying not to think about what boxers he might have on today. "So, you have the extended editions?"

Aramis raised his eyebrows. "What am I, an amateur? Close the door, I'll call Pablo."

Porthos did as bid with a shit-eating grin on his face, but then muttered, "No,  _I'll_ call Pablo."

Aramis' laugh was knowing as he curled up on his sofa and patted the place beside him. "Of course,  _mellon_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's a riddle! What's the elvish word for 'friend'?_  
>  What else could it have been, really? It's perfect, there was just so much opportunity for puns, but I had to tone it down, or I would have done more-dor...! (I'll see myself out.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	19. A Shrewd and Knavish Sprite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 19 - Meeting at a festival/fair._
> 
> I feel that Athos would hear 'Reading Festival' and say, "That sounds pleasant, I adore to read", and then he would find out that it's a popular music festival in Reading and he would be so disgusted with the world.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthos/Aramis, Lancelot says this is obvious OT3, A Midsummer Night's Dream references, music and drinking, Athos' butler is now canon, he's Alfred's best friend, they learned to buttle together, buttle.

"This is ghastly, why did you bring me to this?"

Porthos looked at a truly grumpy Athos, brows furrowed and a look of distaste twisting his lips, and laughed, "S'what everyone's meant to do, you  _gotta_  go to a festival."

"Who says so, the public?" Athos groused, hand jerking away from a handrail when he accidentally touched it, as if it were coated in disease. "They can tell me that from the end of my driveway, whilst I take pot-shots at them with a rifle."

"You mean whilst your butler,  _Sauveterre,_ takes pot-shots at them with a rifle?"

Athos gave him a chilling look, but only Porthos could see the glitter of amusement. "You love Sauveterre, don't try and deny it. I'm just not enjoying myself."

Porthos felt guilt like a wave. "Look, I'm sorry, call 'im, we'll meet up later instead?"

A look of true relief crossed Athos' face and Porthos couldn't help but tug him close, smiling when Athos murmured, "Don't try to persuade me, have fun with the drunken revellers." Athos nudged him with his nose, a rare sign of affection. "Don't hesitate to call me if you get bored, unless something catches your eye, of course."

Porthos grinned. "S'that your way of sayin' you're gonna have afternoon tea with Ninon?"

"As if I would kiss and tell," Athos called over his shoulder, and forged a path through the crowd like a terrifying Morpheus.

Porthos sighed when he was gone; he knew Athos hated these things but it was endless fun hearing him mutter about everything, pointing out health-and-safety issues, like having a particularly grouchy bird on your shoulder.

Still, Porthos could enjoy himself, grab a bite to eat, have a dance, and go home to have Ninon flirt outrageously with him.

But first, food.

But before that, he crashed into someone, a very cute-looking someone. Aside from some shorts slung low on narrow hips, all he wore was body paint in every colour and, glancing down at himself, glitter that was now mostly on his own skin.

There was a babble of apologies and then a small cry of desperation as the colourful sprite scrabbled on the floor for something. "You alright?"

"No! I dropped my money!"

Porthos spotted a sparkle on the floor and thrust it under the sprite's nose. "Here, this yours?"

Wide black-lined eyes met his, a smile trembling on painted-purple lips, but then it broke. "Yes, but I'm still short 20p! It's the only money I have left!"

Helpless to that dejected tone, Porthos dug his hand into his pocket and fished out some coins. "Least I can do, I bumped you, after all."

The sprite's face lightened, turning him gorgeously mischievous and perfectly suited for tricks and tales in wooded glades. "Did you come glittered up, or is that my fault?"

Porthos lifted an arm and examined the streaks of bright paint. "Think that was you."

The sprite examined him playfully. "I think it suits you. Your t-shirt's ruined though."

"That so?" Porthos asked dubiously, and grinned at the emphatic nod he received. "Guess you're right."

He tugged it off, getting more paint on him as he did so, winking when the sprite took his sweet time looking him over and purred, "So, drink?"

Porthos cleared his throat and raised, "Dance?"

An impish smile showed sparkling white teeth and then a hand appeared between them. "Aramis."

"Porthos." Aramis' grip was warm and his hand was painted pink, Porthos wiped it off on his chest and laughed when Aramis drew a smiley face on his wrist. By the time they'd had a drink and ventured into the main tent, Porthos had pink handprints over his biceps and smudges along his collarbones.

He wasn't complaining, not when Aramis carried Porthos' blue handprints on his hips and one on the back of his neck.

They didn't push to the front, although Porthos would have created a space for Aramis and kept him safe from the boisterous crowd. Instead, Aramis rubbed against him like the cat-like creature he was, and all Porthos saw for the next few hours were enticing smiles and splashes of colour.

After the third drink and the umpteenth dance, low-slung shorts grinded against his front, and Aramis gave him a cheeky look over his shoulder. Porthos growled approvingly low in his throat and leaned in to kiss purple lips.

The paint tasted metallic, but Aramis tasted like fairy dust and sugar.

Aramis' tempting rhythm stuttered and then one pink hand fell onto Porthos' chest, directly over his heart, and when Porthos tugged him closer – one bright blue handprint now on Aramis' ass – Aramis moaned eagerly into his mouth.

Happily caught in a sprite's trap, they ignored the music and kissed, hands roving until Aramis was fidgeting wildly in his grip and Porthos had to drag them both outside to gulp in the fresh air and snicker sheepishly at each other's flushed faces.

Aramis slid against him, slotting perfectly against his chest, and whispered, "Tell me your place is close by."

Porthos grinned and nudged him forwards. "C'mon, Puck." Aramis gave him a startled look and Porthos ducked his head on a smile. "My best mate's doin' ' _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ ', he reads bits to me."

Aramis laughed delightedly, "That's adorable, and I  _am_  known as a merry wanderer." Slim fingers reached into those dangerously low shorts, pulled out a paint pot, and without a word of warning, Aramis dipped a finger in it and drew on Porthos' cheek.

He stood still, obediently, enchanted by the impish gleam in Aramis' eyes, and when Aramis produced a mirror, he chuckled, "A flower?"

"Like the one Oberon sent Puck for," Aramis explained, his smile taking a sly edge, "The one shot by Cupid's arrow."

Porthos raised an elated eyebrow. "My mate's gonna love you."

"The more the merrier," Aramis murmured, shivering when Porthos' hands skimmed his waistband in approval. "Does he like paint?"

Porthos' grin was wicked, "No, but 'e'll like it on you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please just imagine Athos reading Shakespeare to Porthos as they sit by the fire, Athos plying Porthos with the expensive whiskey, Porthos snickering at the names until he gets one too many dark looks from Athos and just bears him to the fluffy rug...
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	20. The World is Not Enough (for Two Dark Knights)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 20 - Waiting behind you in line but “excuse you/me, did I just hear you talking shit about my favorite superhero there SON”_
> 
> This was meant to be funnier and way flirtier, but I was woken up at the crack of dawn by some painters who kicked me out of my bed to paint my room a fetching shade of red. Red, _like my raaaaage_.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Porthos squinty, a surprising amount of angst, Batman and Bond references, not to cross streams but is d'Artagnan Spiderman?

"Don't touch," Athos murmured, smacking d'Artagnan's hand when he had been about to drag a finger along some book spines.

D'Artagnan gave him a guilty smile and clutched his new comic closer to his chest, eyes roving over the rows of graphic art. "Thanks for coming, I know you don't like the stores."

"That's not true, I have nothing against them, I just think they're the middle-men. Why not go to the source?"

D'Artagnan snorted, another aborted hand-movement when Athos cleared his throat reprimandingly, "Because we can't all afford to go to the auctions?"

"You say that as if every comic book that goes up for sale is ludicrously expensive," he said, gesturing d'Artagnan ahead of him so that they could pay.

"Why," d'Artagnan asked dubiously, "What's the cheapest one you bought?"

Athos tilted his head to the side, vaguely aware of the queue forming behind them. "I needed a back-issue of The Amazing Spiderman, it only cost five pounds."

"A fiver?!" D'Artagnan exclaimed, and then frowned, "Okay, fine, what's the most expensive?"

Athos let a knowing smile come to his lips, now acutely aware of the person behind them. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "Probably not, just tell me who it was?"

"Batman."

D'Artagnan goggled at him. "But you hate Batman!"

"I don't hate Batman, stop dealing in absolutes," he said archly, hearing a soft snort from someone in the area. "I simply think that he doesn't deserve to be counted as a superhero. All he has is inherited wealth and a lack of parents."

It was as if a hush fell over the store, and d'Artagnan's eyes darted over Athos' shoulder to where he felt someone stiffen. "Just because he doesn't have superpowers doesn't mean he isn't a superhero."

"Nothing he has is super," Athos explained, completely uncaring of what sounded like a growl across his neck.

"Bollocks," came a succinct reply, and d'Artagnan's eyes widened in shock. Athos turned to bestow his iciest stare at the interfering idiot behind them, and came face-to-face with 6-foot-something of muscle and a scowl that could rival Bane's.

Athos let his gaze trail disinterestedly up and down and murmured, "Do you feel in control?"

The scowl deepened. "Are you comparin' me to Bane, where'd you get off, rich kid?"

Athos stepped protectively in front of d'Artagnan when Bane's glare flicked to him. "I get off on burning first-editions by Bob Kane," he snapped, and had the satisfaction of seeing shock in dark eyes.

"You wouldn't dare," Bane snarled, and Athos felt his lip curl into a smirk. "You're way too posh to be in 'ere, anyway."

"I wasn't aware social stature was a requisite for comic books," Athos said scathingly, keeping half an eye on d'Artagnan has he rushed to pay for his comic. "My mistake, perhaps I'll send my butler in next time?"

"You don't 'ave a butler," Bane said suspiciously, but he looked like he doubted himself when he caught sight of Athos' signet ring and the flash of gold at his shirt cuffs.

"His name's not Alfred Pennyworth," he replied with dripping derision, "But he's certainly a butler."

"Yeah, well, you're no Bruce Wayne."

Athos scoffed as d'Artagnan tugged at his sleeve and scuttled out the door, "You have absolutely no idea how right you are."

The man reeled, thrown by his agreement, and Athos gave him a cold, sharp smile. "I'm an orphan, and as you so kindly pointed out, I'm rich, but without a mental trauma involving a flying rat I am most definitely  _not_ Bruce Wayne," Athos snapped the last, and forced his way past, deliberately knocking the man's shoulder aside.

But Bane stood in his way and tried to loom over him, some confused intrigue blazing in his eyes. "Batman's everythin' I wanna be, why don't you want the same?"

It was a strange question, one that felt like pity, and Athos couldn't let it go, couldn't let this infuriating stranger judge him on the basis of a superhero who didn't make sense. He reared up, jerking his chin to the side, a small part of him smirking when interest flickered in Bane's gaze.

"Hell-bent on revenge and lashing out at anyone that tries to help him?" His voice lowered to a hiss, "Bruce Wayne is everything I am and Batman is  _everything_ I am not. Good day."

He smashed out of the door, tiny bell ringing, and then it rang again. Athos deflated, his anger draining as the cold wind whipped it from him, and he turned to see concerned eyes and a held-out hand. Bane had followed him. "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean you weren't a good guy."

Athos sighed, and it was weary, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "You know nothing about me, I am assuredly the bad guy."

The man raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck, Athos catalogued it as nervousness, as was the lifted lip that might have been a smile. "Look, I ain't gonna lie, you look like you'd make a great Bond villain."

Athos felt a muscle twitch in his cheek, had the unrestrainable urge to toss his head and sniff haughtily – which he did do, immediately.

The man frowned, an alarming depth of concern in his dark eyes. "That don't mean nothin' though. I can't judge you just 'cause you 'ave shit taste in superheroes."

Athos did smile then, and received a sheepish one in return. "It's not often I am given the benefit of doubt."

A shrug of huge shoulders. "S'not in me to judge, not without a drink in my 'and."

Athos laughed softly, noticed the way eyes rested on his lips, and asked, "Would you like one?"

He was answered by a surprised but pleased grin. "Sure, name's Porthos."

Athos raised an eyebrow and murmured, "Athos, and this time, the pleasure will be all mine."

Porthos' chuckle was deliciously dark, rich with villainous intent, "We'll see about that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually stumbled upon a fascinating character analysis between Bruce and Athos. I can just see baby Athos reading smuggled Batman comics and being full of hope, and then, as he grew, wondering where he went wrong when he didn't become a superhero and oh unexpected angst, sorry.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	21. Sticks, Stones, and Slippery Suds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 21 - Meeting in the E.R/A &E._
> 
> I feel Athos' view on most things in life is courtesy of Jack Whitehall, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but fuck it, I'm with BUPA". This was meant to be longer, and Athos more worried, but word-limit.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Porthos, whumped!Porthos, protective!Athos, furious!Athos, snooty!Athos, oh come on, as if he wouldn't throw money at something to make it easier on Porthos.

Athos was fretting, he knew he was fretting, but he couldn't help himself. He hated fretting, it was all pulled together eyebrows and flappy palms, it made a person look frightfully inept.

He caught a glance of himself in a window's reflection, his pulled together eyebrows and flappy palms, and glared at the first pair of scrubs that he saw. "Are you blind? He has a concussion, get a wheelchair!" he barked, turning nerves into anger, pleased with the unrelenting command in his voice.

Porthos looked at him askance, smile tilting lazily upwards at one side, his eyes glassy in the bright A&E lights. "You're so  _hot_ when you do tha'."

Porthos had been like this since he had slipped trying to pounce on him in the shower, his head catching the lip of the bath as Athos darted out of the way, only to fall to his knees and desperately call Porthos' name until a heavy palm had cupped his neck and murmured, "S'fine, you look reaaaaally cute when you're worried."

Worried, fretting, absolutely terrified, Athos was a fucking thesaurus of concern right now.

The faceless scrubs returned at speed, the wheelchair's tires practically skidding when he saw Athos' lip rise in a snarl. Gratefully, he gently lowered Porthos off of his aching shoulders but kept their fingers linked, needing to retain that connection.

They burst into the reception where a second pair of scrubs awaited them, daring to meet Athos' furious gaze and say, "I'm afraid you'll need to wait here-"

Athos' voice started low and raised to a crescendo, "You will find him a room, you will find a doctor, and you will charge my fucking credit card!" He slammed the piece of plastic onto the desk and held his hand out for the forms practically flung his way in nervous terror.

Three signatures, eight checkboxes, two telephone numbers and an assortment of information he dragged from his phone later, he accompanied two frightened pairs of scrubs down one dingy hall and into a brighter one, snarling at them when they tried to enter the room with him.

"I know how to contact you, find me a damn doctor," he snapped, and after one expectant look from Porthos, added quietly, "Please."

They were left in peace, and Porthos gave him a queasy grin as he practically fell into the bed, rolling fitfully until the covers were a mess beneath him but he could once again hold Athos' hand. "See? Bein' nice  _does_ get you places. This'a nice room."

Evidently Porthos didn't remember the journey, nor the countless whispered conversations happening behind his head.  _Niceness_ did not get them this en-suite, nor the fresh bowl of fruit or the- "Bloody 'ell, s'that a  _PlayStation?_ "

Athos pretended he hadn't heard and ran a hand through Porthos' curls, tentatively smoothing the area beside the tennisball-sized lump, anxiety finally starting to abate now that he could smell antiseptic.

Abate, and exacerbate.

Porthos gave him a dubious look, and Athos almost froze. "You 'ate 'ospitals."

Athos breathed a sigh of relief and continued his petting, humming when Porthos pushed his cheek into his palm. "Yes, but I wasn't going to let you do this alone."

"S'a concussion, Athos," Porthos replied, but his heart wasn't in a dismissal, he was too busy kissing the tips of Athos' fingers, "I'll be fine."

"You will be," Athos murmured, smiling fretfully when Porthos looked at him.

"Now I'm worried," Porthos muttered, nipping Athos' thumb, "What've you done?"

Fortunately there was a commotion at the door, a harried looking doctor smiling absent-mindedly at Athos as he nudged him aside and asked the usual questions. Athos collapsed into a chair, one out-stretched hand filling with Porthos' when Athos shivered.

Porthos was right, he hated hospitals.

It was an old fear skittering along his bones, forgotten memories that tried to rear their heads, but at least the doctor's expression was encouraging this time. "He's fine, an overnight stay."

Porthos didn't hesitate in looking to him, a lopsided smile telling him that everything was okay. "Go 'ome, love, come get me in the mornin'."

Athos lingered, fluffing Porthos' pillow, ordering him drinks, picking at the salmon that Porthos turned his nose up at –  _cheeky sod – s'gross, Athos!_  But finally his nerves could take it no longer, he bolted, stopping only at the car with a heaving chest and fingers scrambling for his phone.

"Will you fuck off? I'm tryna sleep," came the amused gravelly tones. "You c'n watch Peaky Blinders wi'out me."

"No," he murmured, gaze drifting to the darkened window he knew Porthos was behind, trying not to shudder under the weight of his own guilt. "We'll watch it tomorrow."

"Fair enough. G'night," Porthos yawned, his tone softening when Athos replied. "Sweet dreams, Athos."

He was up at the crack of dawn, fetching Porthos' favourite jumper and jeans, scrambling to be at the hospital in time for visiting hours. The sun wasn't even up when he approached Porthos' room, and heard him at his flirtatious best.

He prowled into the room, interested to see who had caught Porthos' eye, and agreed that the male nurse's body was wasted under scrubs that seemed a little too tight.

Porthos flashed him a lewd grin when the nurse turned, revealing chocolate curls and a devastating smile. "You must be the one who paid for his room."

Athos froze when Porthos frowned. "Wait, this isn't NHS? S'that why there's a fuckin' PlayStation in my room?" Athos began to edge backwards and then Porthos' voice rose to rumbling anger, "Athos!"

Athos tripped out of the room, dragging the cute nurse with him and staring in wild fear at the doorway. Laughing brown eyes looked at him and purred, "Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing?"

Athos felt his lip twitch into a smirk, pleased when a soft laugh sent shivers down his spine – he saw why Porthos hadn't been able to resist. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to convince him of that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame/credit the brilliant Scrabble for the nurse!Aramis idea, I couldn't give it the proper attention it deserved so, continuation? Also, I feel I should mention that the NHS is a fan-fucking-tastic service and everyone who works there does a marvellous job, Athos is just a snooty shit and Porthos will berate him when he's properly conscious.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	22. October Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 22 - Met while jumping into the same pile of freshly raked leaves in a park (alternatively, one jumps in and they met when no 2 kicks said pile of leaves)._
> 
> I even took a walk to get me into the spirit of today's prompt, that's how dedicated I am. It rained. A lot.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Porthos, minor Athos/Aramis, leaves.

Athos had noticed the seasons change for days now, watching the trees go from verdant beauty to skeleton thin in a matter of hours. The wind had torn the leaves from their limbs in a brutal battering last night, but now, with the sun shining and the breeze only a little bitter, it was calm.

It was Athos' favourite time of year.

The cold had never really bothered him, he was content in a jumper and a thin scarf, and he liked nothing more than to wander the empty park amidst an orchestra of whistling trees.

Except that someone was here, interfering on his noisy silence.

He had come through earlier than usual today, enticed by a text filled with kisses and emoticons that told him to meet up for coffee. It had been accompanied by a picture of a sleepy looking Aramis smiling at him from his duvet fort, and not even Athos could resist that.

Normally, by now, the paths had been cleared, but there was crunching underfoot, and his relaxed headspace kept catching on a man just ahead of him, a man with an annoyingly loud rake and humming what definitely sounded like Guns 'n' Roses.

Athos cut him a glance as he passed, and received an appraising look and a devastatingly slow grin when he glared.

"G'mornin'," the man called, his voice deep and amused, striking Athos' spine like a rumbling purr.

"Is it?" he called back without turning around, and resolutely didn't smile when he heard a chuckle.

He also didn't think about the man for the entirety of the walk to the coffee shop, and he definitely didn't talk about him the moment he sat down.

Aramis was far too interested in the man's particulars, a knowing smile curving his lips when Athos might have mentioned the low timbre of his voice once or twice, and wondered out loud where he got the fascinating scar that marked one eye.

They walked back together through the park, Aramis' gloved fingers entwined with his bare ones. The leaves were in neat piles now and Athos liked the order of it, and he especially liked the whipped cream taste of Aramis' lips, even if his mischievous gaze was locked onto something over Athos' shoulder.

Athos curved a hand around Aramis' hip, flicking one cold thumb under his jumper to make him squeak,

Which was around the same time that Aramis pushed him into the pile of leaves and ran off.

Athos lay there for a moment, stunned, and puffed a leaf off of his face when they settled around him like an autumnal blanket.

 _Aramis is so dead_ , he thought idly, prepared to wait until the scoundrel came back to check he was alright. It only took a few seconds before he heard shuffling through the grass, a tread far too heavy for his soon-to-be-murdered friend.

"You alright down there?" Athos tilted his head to see one scarred eyebrow raised in dark amusement.

 _Kill me_. "Yes," he replied nonchalantly, "just plotting my revenge."

There was a very deliberative hum. "S'just, looks a  _lot_ like you were pushed."

Athos scoffed, and he managed it very well considering he was horizontal in a mound of leaf litter. "Clearly, this is a health and safety issue."

The stranger's scoff was nowhere near as good as his, even if he did grin arrogantly and completely capture Athos' attention. "Yeah, yours if you don't get up, you'll catch a cold."

"I don't catch colds," he muttered, but accepted the warm hand up anyway, stumbling a little when he was yanked with too much force and almost fell against his assailant's chest. He managed to stop just in time, one hand bracing on hard muscle as the smell of leaf-strewn winds and musk caught him unawares.

Somehow, Athos resisted sticking his nose in the neck of the man who smelled like autumn.

"Sorry, thought you'd be lighter'n that." Athos raised one very unimpressed eyebrow and was quietly delighted to see a flush stain the man's cheeks. "As in, you're shorter'n me, an' your, er, mate, pushed you pretty lightly."

Athos considered pressing it, but he was reluctantly endeared by the nervousness, and clearly his  _mate_ had planned all of this. Maybe he wouldn't murder him, after all. "Aramis has a skill of getting people on their backs," he murmured, feeling his lip twitch when he was given the hint of a lewd grin.

"S'a good skill," the man conceded, evidently relieved that Athos didn't make him squirm, much. Dark eyes left his and stared forlornly at the grass. "Shame 'e messed up my pile."

Athos hummed his agreement. "He has no appreciation for patterns, unless they're garish."

"Yeah? D'he buy you that?" Athos deliberately took his time looking down at his favourite jumper and then back up again, hiding his laugh when the man realised his mistake and coughed awkwardly, "S'nice."

"Thank you," he said dryly, and mused that he wasn't pouncing on weak spots like he usually did. Maybe it was because he had fallen like an idiot, maybe it was because the man who epitomised his favourite season was incredibly attractive, and perhaps, most importantly, because he had a feeling that if he went for the jugular, the man wouldn't go limp beneath him.

He'd bite him back.

Athos cleared his throat when he felt himself flushing and, like a fool, said, "If you'll excuse me, I have a friend to murder."

The man grinned, the bright white of an October morning. "Good thing 'e's cute, right?"

Athos paused, cocking his head very slightly. "Would it please you to know he thinks the same about you?"

The grin widened with a shrug. "Yeah, but it'd be better if you did, though you were a bit mean to me."

Athos glanced away to hide his embarrassment and looked back to see laughing dark eyes. "Shall we try this again?"

He received a very pleased nod. "Yeah. G'morning."

"Yes," Athos smiled, "it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I have an AU where Porthos is a park ranger type thing and he keeps seeing Athos walk through his park (and you know, some days, Athos just stands amidst the trees and _breathes_ ), and he always wants to approach him but Athos has that natural resting face of _talk to me and die_. Then this... Then Athos flirting with Porthos every day he comes through, bringing him coffee, and hugs :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	23. "Bring the Good Times Home"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 23 - "Which asshole hasn’t returned the DVD I want yet?"_
> 
> I can see fireworks out of every single window, it's like my own personal fireworks show! Happy Diwali, everyone!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Aramis, from screw you to screw me, suspense of belief if only because Athos is out in public and that a Blockbusters is still open, oh the nostalgia.

Aramis wasn't having a good day. It was pouring down with rain, he'd slipped running from the car, and his closest Blockbuster was in severe danger of going bust.

The only good things were the pretty fireworks dotting the sky and the fact that today was the day his favourite film should be back in for rent. Yes, he could buy it, but Aramis is a bit of a cheapskate, and Blockbusters stock Blu-rays.

He strode through the doors, brandishing his soon-to-be-useless loyalty card, and scanned the check in list. He physically deflated when he didn't see the  _The Hobbit_ , but there was no one to complain to – it was late and there was another customer behind him.

Aramis eyed them suspiciously, ignoring the cold stare they gave him, and very stealthily read their sign-in information.

"A- _ha_ ," he called, pointing his finger as if he was Phoenix Wright, and glancing at the scrawl for reference, "Athos de la Fère,  _you_ have the film I've been waiting for."

Athos de la Fère – and Aramis didn't deny that it sounded heavenly rolling off the tongue – cocked his head to the side as if he were insane, which, he realised under that attractive gaze, he might look.

"Impossible," Athos replied, voice quiet and matter-of-fact, "I only rented it out last night."

"Well  _that's_ impossible because I've been waiting for a week, and  _I'm_ first on the list!"

Athos started to laugh, and although it sounded cruel it wasn't necessarily unkind. "Well, doesn't that make you important?"

"Yes, it does," he muttered, wishing that laugh didn't sound like soft settling of the first snows of winter. To make it worse, Athos resettled the collar of his expensive-looking jacket and smiled the smile of a man who could probably buy the building if he felt like it. "Why do you even need Blockbusters?"

"It amuses me to patronise this place for as long as I can, I first met a friend here, we were arguing over the benefits of self-made heroes and super-powered ones," Athos smiled fondly, and it turned him from coldly attractive to outrageously beautiful. "But I digress, here, it's very good."

"I know it's very good," he mumbled bitterly, both hating and liking the hint of a smirk on Athos' lips. It was difficult not to fidget under that cool regard, hard not to let his gaze dart around, harder still to stop admiring him. Aramis chose to focus on the plastic box in his hand but had to pause. "Wait, this is the 3D version."

Athos raised an eyebrow, his own gaze taking a minute to meet his. "Yes, what of it?"

"I wanted the regular one, I don't have a 3D TV!" he wailed, shoulders slumping in defeat at having to wait even  _longer._ In one grumpy move, he shoved the case into the returns slot, too quick to be stopped by the hand that reached out to grab his arm.

He let go of the plastic just as cool fingers locked around his wrist, gentle but unyielding. Aramis felt his breathing lurch when he realised he couldn't escape, felt it like a fire shuddering through him. Heat shot up his veins like one of the fireworks outside, sizzling in a rainbow of colours when Athos' thumb rested on the sensitive skin on his inner-wrist.

His fevered gaze jumped upwards and saw Athos sigh exasperatedly, blue eyes narrowing when he noticed the cornered-hare expression on Aramis' face. That perceptive gaze darted down and up again, a gleam of teeth making Aramis' pulse skyrocket.

"Why did you try to stop me," he asked, his words a little breathy as he inwardly cursed his favourite kink and tried not to melt under Athos' considering touch.

"I was going to say that you would be very welcome to watch it with me. I had meant it jokingly, thinking you would decline, but…" Aramis knew that his pupils had dilated, that his breathing had shallowed, and that his pulse was dancing a telling jig in his wrist. Athos' iced eyes lidded. "Perhaps you would not."

He  _should_ not, he knew that, but there was something ever-so enticing in that winter-winds voice, and Aramis wanted to hear it laugh, hear it groan, and then he wanted to hear his name on a cry. "I wouldn't be opposed to that, if you had popcorn."

Athos still hadn't let go of him, in fact, his thumb had started making little circular motions that sent tingles up Aramis' spine, even as Athos' faraway smile did the same. "I am used amongst my friends as a cinema, I have popcorn machines, marshmallows, and I believe I have a batch of toffee apples for Hallowe'en."

Aramis thought that he might swoon, and wondered whether Athos would take him home and revive him, preferably with candied kisses.

But Athos simply shrugged. "All of that is quite meaningless though, because you returned the DVD."

Aramis blinked dumbly for a moment, and then stared in horror at the metal box, already padlocked for the night. He twisted to shove his free hand into the metal slot, desperately trying to reach for the infernal thing, his mind yelling,  _I've been cock-blocked by a DVD!_

Athos pulled on his wrist, laughing softly when Aramis turned aggrieved eyes on him. "It's fine," Athos murmured, blue eyes glinting with amusement as he tugged Aramis' hand from the slot and soothed the red mark it had made on his wrist.

"It's not fine!" Aramis subjected to the petting but pouted miserably. "I really wanted to watch it."

Athos rolled his eyes but his smile was surprisingly affectionate, as was the hand that held both of his wrists as the other reached up to brush against his jaw. "I'll just buy it on Amazon Instant."

Aramis didn't bother resisting any longer; he pushed his cheek into Athos' pleasantly surprised palm and demanded coyly, "And toffee apples?"

Athos' smirk was gloriously sinful. "Sweet, but with a little bite. Perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who needs physical rentals in a world of Netflix and Athos? Athos who probably has Tony Stark levels of I-want-it-and-now-I-have-it, especially when Porthos has set his surround sound up and then claimed a spot on the sofa 'tween him and Aramis, eh?
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	24. What Are Friends For?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 24 - Thanksgiving/family dinner._
> 
> As a Brit, all I know of Thanksgiving is turkeys and, well, giving thanks! So this is about giving thanks for friends, both near and far, but over a good ol' Sunday roast.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Constance/d'Artagnan, background OT3, the three being adorable to the one, the four of them living together kills me.

D'Artagnan woke at a ridiculously early time in the morning, convinced he had heard the front door open, but chalked it up to a dream because he lived in a house with the laziest people in the world.

He woke up again an hour later to hear the shower running, and was convinced it was a ghost until he heard voices giggling in the hallway and promptly clamped a pillow over his ears to block out what would definitely scar him for life.

When he did finally clamber out of bed, running a hand through his hair in lieu of a brush, and ventured downstairs to see three  _very_ clean-looking housemates – each of which had stupid grins on their faces – he found the kitchen in a state of, well…

It should have been turmoil. It was their first Sunday dinner since Constance had come back from her three months abroad. It was also the first time he had seen her in 96 days and – he cast a glance at the clock – three hours, and he wasn't counting because it wasn't like he was in  _love_ with her or anything, so, yes, the kitchen should have been a mess.

Instead it was a smoothly run process of Aramis cutting the vegetables, Porthos preparing the meat, and Athos overseeing everything, calling out times and temperatures as he examined a recipe book.

D'Artagnan gaped at the oven. "Is that an actual roasting joint of lamb?"

"Yeah, Athos was quids in from that article he wrote so he splashed the cash," Porthos called, flashing a grumpy Athos a delighted smile.

"I was up at 7am to get to the butchers," Athos complained, but smirked when Aramis blew him a kiss across the counter. "I suppose it was a worthy sacrifice."

D'Artagnan stared in amazement at the spread before him, the fantastic cut of meat, the wide array of desserts he found in the fridge – one of which was Constance's favourite.

"Wait, what?"

If it wasn't for Aramis' eyes widening, he would never have known something was afoot. Porthos carried on cooking and Athos idly turned a page in the cookbook. "Hm?"

"Sacrifice, you said sacrifice, sacrifice for what?" he repeated, and then pointed accusingly at Aramis, "Look at him and tell me you aren't plotting something."

Porthos finally moved, leaning around the counter to see Aramis' wide eyes staring at the vegetables he was supposed to be cutting. Porthos snorted exasperatedly and brushed a kiss against his curls, "Idiot."

Athos crooked a finger at the guilty party, and Aramis hung his head as he trudged over, the picture of remorse. Athos tugged him onto his lap, humming in faux-disapproval when Aramis sheepishly tucked his face into Athos' neck.

D'Artagnan couldn't not smile at that. "You guys are so cute it makes me sick sometimes, I just want you to know."

Aramis peeked at him and grinned, not at all shamefaced and evidently playing up just so Athos would manhandle him.

D'Artagnan threw his hands up in the air when Athos nuzzled at Aramis' cheek. "I'm going to vomit now, bye."

He was halfway out of the room before he turned around and asked suspiciously, "Sacrifice for what?"

D'Artagnan badgered them for half an hour until Athos pointed out the time and he had to rush upstairs to get ready, spending way too long picking a shirt – before finding one of Aramis' carefully hung on his door handle – and finding the aftershave that Constance liked.

The doorbell rang and he nearly fell down the stairs trying to answer it in time. Of course, no one else had tried, and all he heard was snickering coming from the kitchen.

Bastards.

"Breathe," Athos called in soft encouragement, and when he gave them a grateful smile, the three of them grinned at him from their huddle around the counter.

Okay, maybe they were quite sweet.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath, tugged his fringe to the side one more time, and opened the door.

He forgot how to breathe.

"D'Artagnan!" Constance cried, and swept through the doorway, her arms coming around his neck and her fresh scent of cut flowers and grass had him grinning like an idiot.

He held her close before leaning back to see a gold glow on her skin. "You have a tan and everything."

"I know, who knew Milan had such nice weather, hm?" she teased, and pecked him on the jaw again, her fingers lingering on his arm as she brushed past.

He stood in a daze for a moment, just content to be near her, until he was called to the dining room to find one seat left between Constance and Porthos, the latter of which gave him a wink.

Constance eyed the table that practically groaned under all of its fare. "Boys, I know you missed me, but this looks wonderful! Don't tell me one of you went to the butchers?"

"D'Artagnan did," Athos said smoothly, serving Aramis before he served himself.

"Yes," Aramis added as he spooned mashed potato onto Porthos' plate, "He helped me make the cake, too."

Porthos cleared his throat and picked out the sprouts Athos hated before passing him the bowl of vegetables, "Yeah, an' me with the roast."

D'Artagnan looked wildly between them all, having not lifted a finger today, but could have hugged each of them when Constance gave him a pleased smile.

With good wine flowing, it was late by the time they realised they still hadn't had dessert, and Constance nibbled her lip when she saw the time.

"Have another glass, Constance," Athos murmured, passing d'Artagnan the bottle, "Aramis will fetch the cake."

The three of them busied themselves in the kitchen, and d'Artagnan smiled hopefully at Constance. "Please don't go yet, tell me more stories of home."

"Italy is beautiful, but," Constance's hand reached for his under the table, "I missed you."

D'Artagnan flushed with surprised delight and matched her shy smile. "I missed you, too."

They held hands during dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to pay good money not to be on the butchers' run, that early morning walk was killer. I didn't mention gravy but Porthos is basically the captain of the gravy boat, Aramis makes perfect Yorkshire puddings, and Athos carves. Oh yes.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	25. If You Go Down to the Woods Today (You're in for a Whole Lot of Grump)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 25 - Parents signed them up for the same shitty art/science program._
> 
> I have no idea how a camp type thing actually works, but I did once go to Nethercott for Farms for City Children (I know, I milked a cow and met Michael Morpurgo), so I altered the ages and then the boys just ran away with it.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Camp banter, just fluff and cuddles, squinty OT3, oh and underage drinking.

Porthos made a face at the camp councillor, which was how he found himself being dragged – by the damn ear! – to the time-out cabin.

A time-out cabin, what was he, 12? No, he was 17, but that hadn't stopped him from being placed on the Woodlands-for-Orphans scheme, along with a bunch of other poor saps from all walks of life.

He had seen one grumpily gorgeous guy get out of a limo, for fuck's sake, complete with butler and Burberry suitcase.

The first thing he saw when he was pushed through the cabin door with his bag in hand, was that exact suitcase, and he looked up to see said guy still looking grumpily gorgeous, even if one eyebrow was raised quizzically from the furthest bed.

"C'n you believe she actually 'ad me by  _the ear_?" he groused, rubbing the side of his face gruffly. "Who the fuck does that?"

"I know, she tried it on me, too, but I told her my parents were lawyers and that this was mistreatment," a smooth voice replied with a wicked smirk that Porthos immediately wanted to see again. "Apparently I said it one too many times and they tired of it."

It was said with such a nonchalant shrug that Porthos burst out laughing, which seemed to shock the other into a smile; it widened when Porthos stuck his hand out. "Porthos."

A slim but firm hand gripped his, the surprisingly ugly jumper not quite hiding the lean muscle of his arm, nor the pit pony physique beneath. "Athos."

Porthos settled on the bed next to Athos', not elaborating on why he chose that one specifically. "Why're you in 'ere then?"

"Better here than out there, where it's cold, and raining," Athos drawled jadedly.

"What, you don't like mud wrestlin'?" Porthos teased, pleased to see Athos tilt his head in a distinctly unimpressed way. "Shame."

There might have been a twitch about Athos' lips as he surveyed him for a moment, but then he flourished a phone from his pocket. "Who needs mud when you have Netflix?"

"You weren't gonna show me that," Porthos said with an accusatory smile at the banned item.

Athos shrugged, completely unabashed. "They took my alcohol, I thought we could do a deal."

Porthos felt his smile grow into a sly grin, his hand falling heavily onto his threadbare suitcase where he'd hidden a corner-shop's worth of beer. "Alright, Athos, you're on."

They lay on Athos' bed to watch films, and when Porthos fidgeted too much in the small space, Athos sighed and rested his chin on Porthos' outstretched arm, finally closing the gap between them and leaning against Porthos' side.

Porthos chuckled comfortably and pretended not to feel Athos smile against his bicep.

It was past curfew when they heard movement outside, Athos muttering deprecations about incompetent camp staff under his breath as Porthos stashed the beer and dived into his own bed.

The door swung open, and the same camp councillor from before stood in the doorway, another victim in her grip. "You can stay here until you learn some respect, young man." The councillor thrust him in, sans suitcase for some reason, and it looked like the guy needed it because he was half naked.

"It's  _Aramis_ ," the victim yelled, stumbling in the dark until he switched the light on. Athos' hiss was what clued him in to not being alone.

Aramis looked up, all tousled curls and startled brown eyes, and his expression went from irritable to charming in less than a second. "Hello boys."

Porthos swung out of bed with a grin. "Hey, I'm Porthos, this is Athos," he said as he went to sit on Athos' bed, just catching Athos' pleased smirk out of the corner of his eye. "What're you in for?" Porthos asked, appreciatively eyeing Aramis' bare chest.

He received a blinding smile and a cheeky wink. "Who knew they checked under the beds in the girls' dorms?"

Even Athos snorted at that, and reached behind the headboard for the beers, tossing one to Aramis in the process – clearly he had passed the entrance exam.

Aramis' beam was infectious. "And here I was thinking this would be boring."

Porthos' laugh might have been all too mischievous. "S'all about the company you keep, eh?"

Aramis nodded in dark delight, his gaze darting between them suddenly. "As long as three's not a crowd?"

Porthos looked to Athos, and didn't miss the way his pulse stuttered when Athos' smirk was slow and sly. "Not at all."

It took both he and Aramis a while to look away from that, until Porthos coughed and asked, "Athos has Netflix, I have beer, what do you have?"

Aramis nibbled his lip and looked way too cute doing it, and then he pulled a bar of purple foil out of his pocket. "I have chocolate, and I know how to make a great blanket fort?"

Porthos met Athos' small smile with a larger one, and nodded for them both. "Deal."

It was Aramis' idea to push their beds together and to string the spare blankets from the beams to create a canopy. Perhaps it was a bit of a coincidence when Aramis and Athos both shivered either side of him, and Porthos absent-mindedly tugged them closer, his attention riveted on  _Kung Fu Panda_.

He did notice the little smirks they gave each other though, and the stack of blankets they hadn't used.

He also noticed the way Aramis fell asleep first, curling like a cat against his side, and when Porthos moved his arm to rest comfortably over Aramis' back, Athos made a tiny noise that sounded like a very put out growl.

Porthos chuckled, rolled onto his back, and was immediately crowded by two sets of messy curls. Athos gave a contented sigh as he drifted to sleep on Porthos' chest, and Porthos echoed it, idly wondering what shit they'd have to pull to stay in here.

It was going to be a fun summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have been a tale of the boys getting into camp capers, eventually roping in a baby d'Art who got into trouble for defending Constance's honour (probably over a cake), Porthos making Parent Trap jokes, Athos trying to stealthily order pizza, Aramis finding any excuse to go swimming, and them deliberately playing up so they can sleep in the time-out cabin together.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	26. I'd Love to Stop and Chat (but I'd Rather Have Type 2 Diabetes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 26 - Meeting at a coffee shop._
> 
> This was supposed to be flustered!Athos, but having _just_ written an AU where Athos is the most BAMF around, it ended up being the two of them trying to fluster the other. Title courtesy of Malcolm Tucker.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Aramis, Athos is grumpy, Aramis is gorgeous, caffeine and cantankerousness, 'The Thick of It' references, don't get me started on the Capaldi crossovers, I will shoot headcanon all night.

Athos stepped through the door of the outrageously busy Starbucks with a pissed off sigh. He hated how the masses milled in here, how they gathered in their breaks to pay extortionate amounts for awful coffee.

If Athos' usual hadn't been closed down – and he had half a mind to buy it out just to keep it open – he wouldn't have been forced to get his caffeine fix elsewhere.

He glared at the myriad labels in front of him,  _paninis_  and yoghurts and other trivial food stuffs with high price tags. All he wanted was a coffee, was that too much to ask for?

Eventually he managed to find what he wanted amidst the bastardised Italian terms – why call the smallest size a  _tall_ for God's sake? – and ordered, requesting the most bitter bean they had.

Why they needed his name, he had no idea, and he didn't approve of having to spell it out three times.

They would still get it wrong.

He considered just leaving immediately, but the sweet tang of coffee was enticing him forwards, even as he caught a smell from over his shoulder, of cinnamon and sugar.

Athos staked out a spot on the wall to wait out his order, and that was when he noticed him, the one that smelled of sugar, and looked as if he tasted of it, too.

Athos wasn't sure if he had ever seen someone so outrageously gorgeous before, a buttery-soft chocolate leather jacket graced slender shoulders, and pale-blue skinny jeans encased legs so tightly that Athos could see the muscle outlined underneath. There was a click as he walked, the click of brown cowboy boots, and his sunny smile could out-draw any schmuck trying to stand in his way.

Athos found himself empathising with the dazed barista when a purred, "Aramis," curled through the air, as if his very name was some sort of spell.

Someone bumped Athos' side, and when he turned to growl at them and glance back, it was to see Aramis squinting at a cup and taking it away.

Athos frowned, not only because that sole beam of light in his sombre morning was walking away from him, but because his should have come out first.

Over the bustle he heard a faint, "Aramis? Pumpkin Spice Latte?" and sighed heavily, reaching out for the cup with a dismissive hand. Finding Aramis was easy, he was standing near the condiments, Athos' cup against his lips, and his attractive face wrinkled into one of intense distaste.

It was surprisingly adorable. "Excuse me," he murmured, trying to hide his laugh and definitely failing, "That's mine."

Aramis looked up in a toss of brown curls, a faint flush stealing across his cheeks. "That explains why this tastes like something has died in it."

It was Athos' turn to flush, people didn't usually call him out on his tastes quite so early into conversation. "I think that 'r' is actually a 't'."

Aramis lifted Athos' cup to stare at the scribbled name, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Arthos?"

"Athos," he replied, a tinge of exasperation to it, because Aramis looked up suddenly with one of those smiles, the disarming ones.

"Well,  _Athos_ ," Aramis said his name as if it were a caress, "luckily for you I didn't put any sugar in."

Athos took his cup gratefully, and with it safely in his possession and enraptured by that silky voice, taunted, "You mean,  _more_ sugar?"

Aramis' eyes narrowed before he laughed, confidence in every line of his graceful body, and one palm resting briefly on Athos' forearm. "What can I say, I have a sweet tooth?"

Athos took a sip of his coffee and, bolstered by its strength and the warmth of Aramis' fingers, murmured, "So do I."

This time Aramis' eyes stayed lidded, his smile matching Athos' sly one. "Lucky for me, then. Are you sitting?"

"Yes," Athos replied, despite having been about to kick tables aside in desperate efforts to get outs, and found himself led to a table by the window, one with two seats only just vacated.

"So," Aramis said, sighing happily with his fingers laced around his cup, "Athos." He wasn't sure he would tire of hearing his name in that voice. "Why exactly do you drink coffee that tastes as if it's never even heard of cream?"

Athos settled in his chair with an amused smile, content to watch Aramis breathe in his drink with rapturous delight on his face. "I need the caffeine, I have people to yell at and documents to screw into a ball."

Aramis snorted into his froth, getting whipped cream on his top lip and Athos had to hold himself back from leaning forward and wiping it off, preferably with his tongue. "You don't work for the government, do you?" Aramis asked, his tongue flashing pink as it licked one long stripe into the cream.

Athos blinked for a moment before remembering to laugh, utterly distracted by Aramis' wink. "Ah, no, I haven't quite risen to Malcolm Tucker levels of bollocking."

Aramis broke out into a gleeful smile. "I have no doubt that people quake in their boots when you walk by."

Athos looked up over the rim of his cup. "I can neither confirm nor deny that, but I am known for popping out unexpectedly and shouting at people."

"What building did you say this was in?" Aramis asked in such faux-nonchalance that Athos had to laugh at how forward he was being, and admire the naughty twinkle in Aramis' eyes.

"I didn't," he answered, just to see Aramis pout, and then added, "I do, however, have an extra hour of free time."

Aramis pondered this for a moment, trying to see his angle, and mused aloud, "Daylight savings ended today."

"That it did, I think I might fall back into bed." It was stupid innuendo, but worth it to hear Aramis laugh.

Aramis nibbled his lower lip. "Let's see if we can satisfy that sweet tooth, hm?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that other AU will be posted shortly, just waiting on my beloved beta to get back to college so she can redfont it for me <3
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	27. Stop! In the Naaaame of Love!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 27 - Dramatically saving each other from certain death or barely surviving something that almost makes the other break down and just smirking wearily and mumbling flippant smartass remarks to HIDE THE DEPTH OF THEIR FEELINGS._
> 
> Remember how I wanted Athos to be flustered in the last chapter? Well...
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, blood, unconsciousness, angst, oh god the angst, but then such unbearable fluff, I swear, they make me want to cry such disgustingly happy tears.

It was Athos who saw Aramis walk out into the road, too busy flashing them a sly smile to keep an eye on the oncoming traffic. Athos always said that Aramis' sex appeal would be the death of him, but it was normally just to make Aramis pout sexily.

The driver looked up too late, and Porthos reached out, as if he could push Aramis to safety by desperation alone, but then Athos was there beyond the tips of his fingers, forcing Aramis out of the way as the car's bumper clipped his thigh.

The car skidded to a stop a few metres away, its driver staring wildly at them until Athos started to scream.

Aramis' name echoed in Porthos' ears as he threw himself across the street to see a long gash snaking into Aramis' once-pristine curls, blood already dripping onto the tarmac and Athos' fingers dark with it as he cradled Aramis' head.

Porthos whispered denials, barely coherent over Athos' chanting, and numbly stabbed his fingers at his phone to call emergency services.

Athos is on his lap in the ambulance now, but he's leaning over an unconscious Aramis, hands clenching with the need to touch him – he's already been told off twice.

Porthos' back bumps painfully against the ambulance's wall, but he doesn't say anything, just tightens his grip on Athos' waist, mindful of the wicked bruise already colouring his leg, and holds him steady, holds him close.

Athos is still talking, nonsense sentences about how stunning Aramis looked, that they could scrub out the scuff marks in his new jeans, that he had only been joking about being too gorgeous to live.

When Aramis didn't pout, Athos turned into Porthos' chest, and he pretended not to feel the harsh heat against his collarbone, even as he felt as if he was suddenly split up.

Athos loved Aramis, it was obvious, just as obvious as he and Aramis had always loved Athos but thought it wasn't returned, because Athos never said, never gave any indication bar his rare shows of affection.

But it was clear now, there was space in Athos' heart for Aramis, it wasn't to be  _three._

Porthos closed his eyes against a surprising amount of pain, and focused on being happy for the pair of them, on being strong for Athos' sake.

Even if, inside, he felt so very alone.

When Aramis wakes up, he nearly cries at Athos' intense relief, all hidden under smartass remarks even as he tenderly pushes Aramis' curls off of his forehead.

Aramis is muzzy but, as always, grateful for the attention, pushing his uninjured cheek into Athos' palm, murmuring sweet nothings when Athos chides him for causing traffic accidents with his good looks.

Aramis pouts then, and Athos' smile is painfully bright.

A hand reaches for his when the nurses detail Aramis' numerous injuries, Athos' fingers clenching until his bones were creaking, and he knows that Athos is barely keeping it together and he takes him outside.

Athos doesn't let up the flippant barrage, but it can't hide the anguished gleam in his storm-coloured eyes, and so Porthos takes Athos by the shoulders and murmurs, "Aramis is gonna be fine."

Athos' lip quivers before he falls into Porthos' arms. "I don't know what I'd do without either of you."

Porthos snorts, his hands running protectively over Athos' back, still feeling that needle of loneliness. "We ain't goin' anywhere."

"I know  _you_  aren't," Athos said, his voice muffled against Porthos' shirt but no less sassy, "You're far too stubborn."

"Almost thought you gave a shit 'bout me for a moment," he teased, and when Athos pulled back, he wondered if he had overstepped a line.

His stomach erupted into butterflies when Athos cupped his jaw. "Porthos, you and Aramis, you're my everything," Athos licked his lips, his smile nervous, "I lo-"

" _Mes chers_?" Aramis called, and Athos choked back whatever he had been about to say and darted back into Aramis' room.

Porthos hesitated, desperately trying to understand what he had almost heard, why he had felt Athos' pulse thunder under his hands.

Athos was scolding Aramis for being out of bed when he finally walked in, the latter giving him a pleading look. "He's fine, Athos, let 'im be."

Athos gave him a rubbish attempt at a glare, but when Aramis rested against him he seemed to settle, and tried very hard not to wince when Aramis accidentally leaned against his bruise.

"C'mere," he called softly to them both, and couldn't hide his relieved sigh when they came to him, one on each side, where they were meant to be.

Aramis' breathing was still shallow, and Athos' was forcibly regulated, but at least they were breathing, and he would savour this moment forever, in case it was the last time they were  _three_.

"I'd take every bruise if I could," Porthos mumbled, blinking at the ceiling's bright lights.

"And you think we wouldn't do the same?" Athos said archly, shifting so that he came to stand at Aramis' other side, forming a circle.

Aramis rested his weight between them, face caught in the crook of Athos' neck as he leaned into the circle of Porthos' arm. "We're alive,  _mes chers_ , that's all that matters."

Porthos realised that Athos was finally relaxed, his cheek on Aramis' but he was smiling at him, something unbearably grateful in its soft curve. They opened their mouths at the same time, but nothing came out, and they just grinned sheepishly.

"I love you both," Aramis whispered sleepily, and they met each other's gaze when they repeated it back, the triplicate sincerity in it blissful.

"Since when?" Porthos asked when Aramis was safely dozing between them on the hospital bed.

"Since always," Athos laughed nervously, and reached out until his hand lay atop his and Aramis', until they were  _three_.

Porthos felt his first proper grin all day. "We'll tell 'im tomorrow."

"Yes," Athos murmured, smiling as he kissed both of their palms, "Together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say it with me, ogusgioahgqiehgiahgahgi. The lyrics for this song are alarmingly appropriate to Porthos' PoV. Hope this fluff cures any Monday blues! <3
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	28. Something Old, Something New, I Think I'm Falling, In Love with You.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 28 - Two miserable people at a wedding._
> 
> After that angst from yesterday, have some ridiculous fluff. Also, having read so much hype over Porthos and Constance's friendship, I dabbled, and I _love_ it.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Portamis, Constagnan, Athnon, nervous!Pup, grouchy!Athos, finally filled the Athnon tag, and it's stupidly adorable.

_I think I hate weddings,_  Aramis thought wearily, and nudged a nervous d'Artagnan in the ribs. "Will you stop fidgeting? Everything's going to be fine."

D'Artagnan whirled on him, all flashing eyes and flaring grey suit jacket. "Fine?  _Fine?_ Constance is meant to be here in less than  _twenty minutes_ and  _nothing_ is ready, Athos is sulking outside the church because he insists he'll burn up on entry, the car park situation is a mess, and my tie just won't sit straight!"

Aramis couldn't help but smile at d'Artagnan's anxious exasperation and beckoned him closer with one hand. "Come here, I'll sort out your tie."

D'Artagnan slumped towards him gratefully and mumbled into Aramis' shoulder, "Thank you."

"Nonsense," he replied calmly, resting his cheek on d'Artagnan's artfully straightened hair as he fixed his tie, "Athos just has some glaring to do, most people are carpooling, and your tie is now straight. Today is going to be a perfect day."

D'Artagnan's panicky smile strengthened at the sight of Aramis' reassuring one, and only when he nudged the boy inside did he sigh heavily. He adored d'Artagnan, he was like the little brother he'd never had, and Athos, the older, but good God were they annoying.

Aramis was proud to be a groomsman – how excellent the suit looked on him aside – but the pair of them weren't half making him consider throwing his corsage to the floor and running for the hills.

Too late; Constance's car pulled around the corner, and preceding the beautiful bride was a man so ruggedly good-looking that Aramis nearly forgot to close his mouth. The man caught his eye, a conspiratorial roll of them before jerking his head at the church.

Aramis nodded dumbly, trying to drag his gaze from where the charcoal grey material almost strained around bulging biceps, and trotted inside, pushing a muttering Athos in before him and signalling the organist to start.

First, he watched Athos, standing at d'Artagnan's flank with an unbearably proud look on his face as he tugged at the boy's collar, and then when d'Artagnan's lovesick smile became too much to handle, he watched Constance. Except that Aramis found his eyes straying from the couture dress to the strapping gentleman at her elbow, who was grinning so wide that Aramis felt his joy like a sunbeam.

The man winked at d'Artagnan as he gave Constance away, growling something that made the newlyweds blush before he went to sit.

Aramis pulled Constance aside when everyone else was signing the licence, taking advantage of her delirious happiness to get a bit of gossip. "Where did you meet tall, dark, and handsome?"

"Porthos?" Constance said distractedly, her smile turning fond with memory. "We met at that charity event, for the orphanage? You remember, the one that Athos funded but pretended he didn't?"

Aramis grinned at said patron's scowl, who warily eyed the crosses on the wall as if they were just waiting for him to walk past so that they could leap off and crush him. The scowl lifted when Porthos whispered something, and Aramis adored him for it.

"Is he single?"

"Yes, but watch out for Alice, she had her eye on him." Constance didn't notice Aramis' frown because she had walked forwards, arms outstretched to a beautiful blonde, her maid-of-honour. "Ninon! Have you met Athos?"

Aramis didn't bother hiding his smirk when Athos shot him a desperate, pleading look, but it faded when it took a maximum of thirty seconds for the pair to walk outside, her palm on his arm, and their heads together in deep conversation.

It was hard not to be a ball of bitterness when everyone else was pairing up around you.

He thought he heard his name from across the room, but when he looked up, he only saw Porthos fixing his cufflinks and d'Artagnan staring fixedly at a point on the ceiling.

When it was his turn to sign, he took a moment to admire the fated bit of paper, his nearest and dearests names on it had him smiling as he was caught up in the rush to the reception, rubbing Constance's pink lipstick off of d'Artagnan's cheek – and mysterious red off of Athos' – as he corralled people around.

Only when everyone was sat did he realise he had no idea where he was meant to be, and saw the only spare space at the second table, next to Porthos.

If he glanced at the top table gratefully, only Constance's wicked smile saw it, because Athos and Ninon were arguing wine and d'Artagnan was greedily eyeing the cake.

"So," Porthos murmured as Aramis sat down, trying not to beam at this fortuitous event, "Aramis." He looked up, startled, to see Porthos' sheepish grin. "Asked d'Artagnan."

Aramis felt his mouth curve. "So," he replied, just as quietly, "Porthos."

Porthos' chuckle was rough but melodious, "Constance?"

Aramis nodded in amused embarrassment, and then the speeches started, Athos' best man speech ribbing but affectionate – and Aramis  _didn't_ cry at Athos' honoured smile – and d'Artagnan's was so full of love that he didn't mind when his laugh sounded wet, because Porthos cleared his throat and rubbed an eye, too.

"They're disgustingly perfect," Aramis said with complete fondness when Constance blushed prettily at d'Artagnan's toast.

"You gonna catch the bouquet?" Porthos asked, and when Aramis nodded adamantly, he added, "I c'n push people outta the way if you want."

Aramis nibbled his lip delightedly. "Or we could just get a drink? No use breaking too many hearts."

He was already half in love with the twinkle in Porthos' eye. "I'm buyin'."

"It's an open tab," Aramis remarked, even as Porthos took his hand and led him to the bar.

"I know," Porthos laughed, and it sent tingles up Aramis' spine.

Aramis was sat on Porthos' lap when Constance tossed her bouquet, and if Athos' gobsmacked expression was any indication, Ninon had caught it.

"I love weddings," Aramis commented, and Porthos hummed happily into the crook of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, can we all just take a moment to think of Athos' face then. He would be playing it cool all day, utterly in love with Ninon because she's so lovely and casj, they'd be flirting/arguing over dinner, and he would be scoff in disbelief when she _dictates_ that she's going to catch the bouquet. Please imagine the colour draining from Athos' face, and his nervous smile when Ninon turns to wink at him with the bouquet clutched firmly in her slender hands.
> 
> ... ALSO, Porthos and Constance doing the father-daughter dance, AHHHHHH.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	29. I Do Hope That Puppy's For Sale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 29 - "Oh my God, I’m so sorry; my dog doesn’t usually jump up on people like this. I have no idea what their deal is, but also, hey there”/”I think your dog likes my dog"_
> 
> I spent a ridic amount of time sorting out breeds and colourings, so much so that I blanked a little on the names.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Constagnan, meet-cute, dog-park, honey-sweet-fluff, Jane Austen's 'Emma' references, d'Art pretending it's so NOT an Austen reference, but it totally is.

Constance savoured the bite to the wind, the breeze that tried to whip her hair from its topknot and had her grateful for the outrageously knitted jumper she had been given by a friend.

It was in a shocking shade of red but, as Aramis had dramatically put it, it would bring out the ruby highlights in her hair.

Whether he was having her on or not, who could tell, especially as Athos had complimented her on it the next day, and everyone knew what Athos' tastes in jumpers were positively horrendous.

Still, it was warm, and Emma liked it, her King Charles Spaniel, who was also wearing red today, a red collar to bring out the highlights in  _her_ ruby coat. They made quite a pair, tromping through the park, kicking aside leaves and enjoying the autumnal air.

Emma made a face when they neared one of the busy play parks, and Constance rather agreed with her. She came out for a walk, for the joy of it, not to chit chat with idiots who tried to tell her about her dog's potential health problems, and did she not know that dogs should wear coats?

Constance made a face that matched Emma's distinctly unimpressed one. As if she would ever consider forcing Emma into one of those hellish contraptions, complete with some sort of bobble-hat, presumably.

She had tried a doggie coat on Emma once, who had promptly sat down and refused to move until the thing was taken off.

No, Emma was a well to-do dog, she didn't need frills or fanciness, and neither did Constance, and that's what she would say to Aramis the next time he tried to set her up with one of his business friends.

Honestly, the next person who turned their nose up at her because she wore a skirt with a paint scuff on it to dinner, was going to feel her palm against their jaw.

Huffing enough that Emma re-joined her side to check she was okay, Constance barely noticed the man and his dog approaching, the former eyeing her appreciatively, looking very much the type to stop and chat.

Constance turned tail and walked straight into the grass, not caring about how the dew soaked through to her socks almost immediately. Anything was better than some chat-up line from some imbecile making small talk about the weather.

Emma yipped pre-emptively, a warning sort of noise, one which was completely unheeded by the black-and-tan dachshund puppy that came gambolling up to her. Constance paused, looking about for its owner, but all she could see were swaying trees and blowing leaves.

Constance stepped forward, ready to pull them apart if trouble started brewing – Emma despised other dogs, especially tiny ones that wanted to play.

The dachshund bounced around, barking excitedly, and Constance was gobsmacked to see Emma,  _her Emma_ , the dog Constance had tried to take to training classes but who adamantly refused to make friends, was leaning forward, her tail wagging amicably.

"Knightley!" called an exasperated voice, and in the distance, Constance saw a man, probably a few years younger than her, crash through the trees. Shock lightened his face until he appeared even younger, and he jogged over with the most shamefaced expression. "I am  _so_ sorry, I don't know he slipped away from me, is your dog okay?"

He fell to his knees, and the dachshund – in the rapturous delight that puppies have – turned from Emma and clambered over his knees, licking his face profusely despite his feeble protestations. His black hair was tangled, his cheeks were pink, and he looked ready to have the floor swallow him.

He was, for want of a more dignified term, utterly adorable.

Constance simply gestured to a Emma who was pouting because her new friend had been taken from her. "I think they've taken a liking to each other."

The young man – he was technically no more than a boy, surely, with that infuriatingly charming smile – put the puppy back onto the grass, his slim fingers hooked in power-blue collar as he muttered, "Play nice, and don't show me up."

Constance was fairly certain she wasn't meant to have heard that, so she simply went to her knees, too, and hid her smile in Emma's red fur.

Nervous but beautiful brown eyes stared at her from a young face, and Constance was reluctantly endeared by his awkwardness. He was no more than a puppy himself, really.

With one arm still around Emma's shoulders, she stuck her other hand out. "Constance, and Emma."

She was stared at for a moment, as if her shaking hands with him was something strange and completely new, but then he finally reached out and warm fingers gently clasped hers. "D'Artagnan, and Knightley."

This movement had nudged d'Artagnan's arm, and his rapscallion pup bounded forward, sitting right under Emma's nose as he leaned up to lick her.

D'Artagnan laughed in surprise, and Constance heard herself echoing it, sharing a smile with him when Emma cuffed Knightley to keep him down, and then proceeded to clean him, thoroughly, much to his tiny growling protests.

"I have never seen Emma be this friendly before," Constance said in thoughtful wonder, and d'Artagnan looked up with a pleased grin.

"Emma and Knightley?"

Constance raised an eyebrow at that presumptive coupling, and d'Artagnan flushed as he looked down, but he was still grinning. Infuriatingly charming.

He looked up again, mischief in his boyish smile. "There's a, um, outdoor café type thing, over there, would you like a coffee?"

Constance nibbled her lip, knowing she was not the type to accept drinks from strangers, even ones with cute dogs.

Then again, Emma wasn't the type to accept nose licks from strangers either, even ones with cute owners.

"It would be a shame to separate them," d'Artagnan added earnestly.

Constance couldn't help her giggle, d'Artagnan was as cheeky as his puppy. "You're right," she conceded, and d'Artagnan's smile was like sunshine, "Coffee would be nice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a world with no word-cap, this would have had d'Art's pup in a powder-blue bobblehat, or a scarf, or something stupidly adorable, probably something that matched d'Art's, and Constance would have had to concede that it was outrageously cute. Also, reading order could be 1, 29, 24?
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	30. Quoth the Pumpkin King with the Skeleton Grin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 30 - "Everyone thinks we came to this party as a couple because our costumes match what’s your name."_
> 
> As soon as I saw this prompt, I _immediately_ thought of these costumes, and Athos secretly loving his character ("I'm known throughout England and France!...to recite Shakespearean quotatiooooons!"), and Athos making that outrageous reference to Porthos' _Schwanzstück_. It was fated.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Aramis, OT3 flirting, references include: _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , _Young Frankenstein_ , and _Carmilla_.

"You must be kidding me," Athos asked, struck dumb on the threshold to his and Aramis' room.

Aramis appeared under his arm, valiantly portraying mild interest instead of mischievous terror. "Hm?"

"I am not wearing  _that_." Athos pointed at the cupboard where Aramis' suggestion for tonight's Hallowe'en party hung.

Aramis' hand found his chest, fingers deftly undoing his shirt's buttons in a manner that shouldn't have immediately burned away his frustration. "Aramis," he warned, but the only bite to his voice was the one he placed on Aramis' neck.

Aramis went boneless against him, deliberately provocative, and arched his neck, murmuring for more. Athos obliged, when didn't he? Aramis had him around his little finger.

"Fine."

Aramis squeaked in happiness, kissed him on the lips, and dashed downstairs, already fixated on something else that wasn't Athos rolling his eyes at the ceiling with a serious case of blue balls.

Little flirt.

Thirty minutes later, after Athos had been pushed onto a chair and had Aramis on his lap, layering his face with white face-paint and brandishing black eyeliner that tickled his cheeks, he was ready. And by ready, he meant that he was fixing the cuffs of the black-and-white pinstripe suit Aramis had bought him, and waiting in the foyer.

"Aramis!" he called, but only silence greeted him. He was halfway upstairs before his phone buzzed.

[ _Mon cher, it's a costume party, you'll have to find me! x_ ]

Growling at how suspiciously empty he realised the house had become, he headed to the party. How he had let Aramis talk him into this, he had no idea, except that it had involved wine and a lot of kissing.

Athos tugged at the spider-web lapels and resettled his bow-tie before bowing to a thrilled Ninon at the door, who was dressed as Le Fanu's  _Carmilla_  – and doing it fantastic justice.

"Very apt," he murmured amusedly, kissing her powdered cheek and getting a wink in reply.

"Your pretty puppy's in there," Ninon said, and then caught herself, giggling, "Well, one of them."

Athos raised an eyebrow, but received nothing more than choked off laughter and shooing motions.

No less than five people congratulated him on his costume – all of whom quailed when they realised who it was under the paint – and three people caught sight of him and snickered, evidently in on the same joke that Ninon was.

At one point he thought he heard a glimmer of Aramis' laugh, at another he was convinced he saw chocolate curls disappear around a wall.

It was a hunt, Athos realised as he shoved someone aside to pursue the fleeing tease, and his smile gained a hint of teeth as he closed in.

Rounding a corner, Athos halted, his smile turning positively predatory as his gaze honed in on a lithe figure against the wall. Aramis was in shamefully tight black jeans, but his top half was bare and entirely chalk-white, the tip of his nose painted bright red.

Athos' costume suddenly made sense.

"Zero," Athos hummed appreciatively, fingers skipping over chalky, sculpted stomach and closing on the black collar about Aramis' neck.

"Jack," Aramis purred, pupils flaring when Athos tugged at the material. Aramis gave off an illegal amount of sex appeal on his bad days, making an effort and half-naked was definitely enough to have Athos' already heated blood running hotter.

"If I call you to heel, can we go home?" Athos asked, trailing another hand up Aramis' back to tangle in his hair.

Aramis shivered, baring his throat, but when Athos gave a soft, satisfied laugh, Aramis lightly shook his head. "Not yet, a little longer, please?"

Athos bit him, just for being awkward and entirely too manipulative, but he couldn't deny Aramis anything. He let him go with one more tug at the collar – which Aramis whimpered happily at – and nudged him ahead. "Come on then, at least let me have a drink."

"Thank you,  _mon cher_ ," Aramis said, tossing a sly smile over his shoulder, and continued to ply him with brief touches and wine.

Honestly, with Aramis at his side, he could handle anything. He even managed not to hiss at the copious amounts of people who complimented them on their paired costume, that was, until, someone cried, "Oh my  _God,_ Porthos, did you three come together?"

Aramis turned in the crook of his arm, and it took him two seconds to look the stranger up and down and answer for them all, "Yes, we did."

Athos looked skyward, but he wasn't going to deny that the poor soul who happened to be standing too close them was gorgeous; this Porthos' muscles weren't quite hidden under the white paint and torn shirt.

"There's a prize for best group," Aramis muttered conspiratorially, flashing his best smile, and Porthos grinned, because no one else could deny Aramis, either.

It took Porthos a second to drag his gaze from Aramis' godly form to realise that Athos had an arm around Aramis' waist and was staring quite intently at him.

Apparently Porthos responded to a threat with humour, and Athos rather liked that.

"Any excuse to wear a suit?"

"No, it's just the easiest thing to get him into," Aramis bit his lip and added  _sotto voce,_  "Or out of."

Porthos raised an eyebrow at that blatant flirting. "Oh yeah?"

Athos' hand clenched on Aramis' hip possessively and Aramis draped against his chest, nipping at his neck. Porthos' dark eyes flashed with a distinctly interested gleam.

Athos curled his fingers into Aramis' collar, smirking when Porthos watched raptly, and let his own gaze drift deliberately down Porthos' body. "Is it too much to hope for that your portrayal is  _Young Frankenstein_ 's monster?"

He was pleasantly surprised when Porthos laughed knowledgably, "All I needed was the paint. Wanna see for yourself,  _Jack_?" Porthos' smile was wicked, and Athos felt an agreeable shiver run up his spine.

Aramis peeked delightedly from under his eyelashes, and Porthos chuckled when Athos murmured, "Lead us, Zero."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not often I want to carry a prompt on (HA!) but I reaaaaally loved this one, maybe it was the collar, idk. Happy Hallowe'en for tomorrow, everyone!
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it! You can find our prompts and posts on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave, come join us! The tags used are (#October Writing Challenge) and (#A Musketeers' Fall).


	31. How They Hypnotise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Day 31 - "Aren’t you a little old to be trick or treating??"_
> 
> Golly gee, woe is me! We have finally come to an end, I hope you enjoyed this little journey as much as we did. I **am** going to do some continuations, but only by request, so if you want one (or five), please let me know which ones either in the comments or on my Tumblr!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthos/Aramis, OT3, trick or treating, flirt or flirting, they're 22 +/- 3, + for Athos, - for d'Art, all the boys for the finale.

Aramis heard the doorbell go and sighed, dragging himself from that night's ' _Jeeper's Creepers_ '. He just wanted to watch scary films and eat candy, was that too much to ask for?

"Trick or treat!" two voices chorused from the porch, and Aramis paused. He could have sworn he heard something deep rumbling under a high-pitched squeak.

Tentatively, he opened the door onto thunder and lightning. The lightning was the beaming little girl at his feet, candy bag held aloft, and the thunder was her very broody shadow, a shadow whose dark eyes might have sparked with something interested as they tracked Aramis' body.

Perhaps he could be distracted for a bit.

The little girl gave him a confident wave. "I'm Eliza, an' this is Porthos! He's my big brother for the day." She pointed over her shoulder proudly and an affectionate smile lightened that ominous countenance.

It was adorable, and made the thunder that much more attractive.

Aramis leaned against the doorjamb, slowly eyeing Porthos, and murmured, "Aren't you a little old to be trick-or-treating?"

He was enchanted when Porthos flushed, one hand going to the back of his neck as the other gestured at Eliza. "S'the kids from the children's home, they don't normally get to do this."

Aramis thought that his heart would melt from such cuteness, and all wrapped in a burly form of delicious muscle. Clearly, he had far more interesting things to do than watch films all night.

He sat on his haunches to look Eliza in the eye and say in amazed tones, "Are you a fairy? You look very pretty, like a princess." Her nod was excited and Porthos gave him a thankful smile.

"What about your friend, has he fallen from heaven?" Eliza gave him a frown, as if he was an idiot, but Aramis was more concerned with Porthos' embarrassed laugh. "Or is he the treat?"

Porthos coughed in surprise, a flush dancing across his cheeks. "D'you often pull with lines like that?"

Aramis kept his tone light, "You tell me."

A soft chuckle, one that might have been a little reluctant, "We really gotta move on."

Eliza looked up with a pout. "But I didn't get any candy!"

"Excellent point," Aramis admitted gravely, and brandished the bowl of sweets he had been planning to devour. "Here you go." He upended the whole bowl into Eliza's bag, smiling when she beamed at him.

He captured her attention again with one last lollipop, twisting it between his fingers. "Hey," he asked conspiratorially, "Do you think I could come with you?"

Eliza eyed the lollipop with all of the fanaticism of a kid that wanted just one more sweet. "Okay."

Porthos looked to the skies, but when he met Aramis and Eliza's pleading looks, he seemed to stifle a smile before raising an eyebrow at him, "Well?"

It was all the encouragement Aramis needed. He leaned back into the house to yell, "I'm going trick-or-treating, mum!"

"You're 22!" his dad replied, before being silenced with a chiding hush.

"Have fun, sweetie!"

He stepped out and pulled another lollipop from his back pocket when their little charge ran ahead. "I'll swap you this for your jacket."

Porthos gave him an amazed look. "You're insatiable, y'know that?"

"You can lick me, instead, if you want?"

Porthos laughed delightedly, giving Aramis a considering look and shrugging out of his jacket. As he tucked it around Aramis' shoulders, he murmured, "Might take you up on that, later, Trick."

Porthos' arm didn't leave his back and Aramis grinned at him, burrowing into the borrowed warmth and breathing in the scent of candy and sandalwood. "What time do big brothers clock off?"

Porthos shrugged, one eye on Eliza as she met with some friends to compare sweets. "Depends on the littler brother."

"Call me that one more time, Porthos," a voice said warningly, and then Aramis was treated to the truly terrifying sight of ice-chipped eyes that were stunningly real. "Oh, hello."

Porthos squeezed his shoulder when Aramis fell silent under that appraising stare. "Athos, this is Trick, he bribed 'Liza with loads of sweets."

Athos softened immediately, a small smile twitching at his lips when Aramis flushed and added, "My name's Aramis."

Porthos grinned. "I prefer Trick." Athos rolled his eyes, but his smile grew when a fourth joined their circle and Porthos cried, "It's the littlest brother!"

Athos smirked at the youngest's scowl but tossed a sweet into his bucket. "D'Artagnan, you're wasting your time with that side of the road, Eliza's had them all, she's cleared Aramis, here, out."

D'Artagnan groaned pitifully but perked up when Porthos dug his hand into his pocket and drew out a handful of sweets. D'Artagnan didn't quite look hopefully at Aramis, but it was a close run thing, and when he brandished yet another lollipop, he was bestowed with three pleased looks.

"Resourceful, aren't you?" Athos asked when d'Artagnan skipped off joyfully to join Eliza.

"Don't know where he keeps 'em," Porthos remarked lowly, and Athos made an appreciative noise that sent goosebumps over Aramis' skin. Under those fascinating blue eyes, Aramis hummed a song, and Porthos sung softly, "Where d'ya get them peepers?"

Athos gave their snickering an unimpressed look, but his smile, when it came, was magnificently sly.

As they walked, Aramis took careful note of the times Athos' shoulder brushed against Porthos', the way Athos made them laugh with his dry comments about a rambunctious d'Artagnan, how Athos graciously offered Aramis his scarf.

Still tucked against Porthos' side as they stopped outside the last house on the street, Aramis took his chance and flourished his last lollipop.

They glanced at each other before looking at Aramis again, brows quirked in blatant interest.

"Athos," Aramis asked, wetting his lips and smiling when they both watched intently, "would you like one?"

Porthos grinned first, and Athos' was a slower, hotter thing. "I wouldn't mind a taste," Athos pressed forward, almost pinning him against Porthos' chest as he murmured, "Trick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so wanted more words for this, but to give you the scene, YES, d'Artagnan's knocking on doors with the babies and using puppy-eyes for candy, YES, he's wearing a costume, he's probably Harry Potter, and Porthos tried to draw a penis on his forehead in red Sharpie but Athos wouldn't let him.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it, love and hugs for you faithful commenters! If you're hungry for more, please prompt us on something new or request a continuation on our Tumblrs at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and SirLancelotTheBrave.


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